Obsessions
by Aima D. Duragon
Summary: Harry is surprised when Draco makes him a proposition-after all, how often is it that a Death Eater's son and your own worst enemy asks for a second chance? HP/DM
1. Windows on a Train

**Title: **Obsessions

**Disclaimer: ** I own nothing, no profits are being made, blah blah blah...

**Update:** So apparently they added something so you can't copy and paste anything from a story? So yeah that's annoying for updates :P

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**_~xXxXx~_**

_I'm not sure what happened_

_But here I am alone_

_Trying to find a way_

_To find a reason that you're gone_

_I don't know if I'm shaking from the rhythm of these wheels_

_Or if it's my heart breaking, and this is how it feels_

_This is how it feels_

-Jessica Andrews

_**~xXxXx~**_

* * *

The air was hot and unbearably stifling in the Hogwarts Train Station and the unusual surplus of people did nothing to help the situation. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood in a tightly knit triangle, trying their best to push their way towards the train. It didn't seem to be working. The crowd was thick, and bodies were pressed together like magnets. The atmosphere was one of tethered frenzy—students and teachers alike were scrambling to board the train, wanting to escape the dark mood that had hovered over the castle ever since the final battle. Harry shuddered, trying to block it from his mind.

Luckily, the majority of the crowd was studiously avoiding making eye contact with them, much less trying to talk to them. There had been enough talk at the funerals and half-hearted celebrations. Too much talk. Too many woeful apologies, and superficial congratulations that served only to grate against his agitated nerves. With Voldemort dead, nobody knew what to do with him. What Harry did—they didn't know how to take it. They didn't know what it meant, and what made things worse, was that Harry didn't know what it meant either.

Some pains ran too long, and cut too deep. Voldemort had been a part of him his whole life, but now that tie was severed. And somehow he'd thought that afterwards…everything would be different. He thought that he would be able to look at the world—at his life—and see it in a new light. He thought there would be more…hope. But there wasn't. All there was now was a big gaping hole.

Twenty minutes of frustrated maneuvering saw them in a private compartment on the Hogwarts Express that Headmaster McGonagall had sympathetically arranged for them. The three threw themselves down on the cushioned benches; Ron and Hermione huddled together with Harry sitting across.

Hermione laid her head on Ron's shoulder, (Ron had finally asked her out about a week ago, much to Harry's relief). "Thank Merlin we're finally going home! A nice summer at the Burrow should really freshen everything up."

Ron grumbled. "Yeah, as long as Rita Skeeter doesn't figure out that Harry's staying there. She's going to want to interview him, and you know the kind of things she writes when she doesn't get what she wants."

Exasperated, Harry sank lower into his seat. Hermione lifted her head to shoot Ron a glare, but the redhead hardly seemed to notice. Shaking out her curls with a huff, she leaned in towards Harry, trying her best to smile. "It won't be all that bad. Everyone's just excited as all. The Wizarding world had to live under Voldemort's shadow for decades, Harry. How you possibly expect people not to react? And I know it's going to be hard at times but…" She narrowed her eyes, searching them. "They've lost loved ones too, you know.

Something in Harry's stomach clenched. His jaw tightened and he turned his face towards the window, biting his tongue to hold back the spiteful replies that were swirling through his mind.

"Harry?" Hermione asked gently.

Ron grabbed her by the arm. "Leave him, Hermione," he hissed in her ear, noticing Harry's foul mood.

It was a hard thing not to notice. After Lupin's funeral, Harry just couldn't take it anymore. It felt like a lie. All of it. Everything. Sitting here and talking like this. Everyone wanted to talk and act like everything was _ok_—that the war being over would just reset the world like flipping over an hourglass. Sure, there had been losses. Of course there had. It was a war, and wars didn't exactly propone increases in population. But what did _other people_ know about it? What did people like Hermione know about what Teddy's life was going to be like growing up without parents, or what Lavender Brown's parents were going to handle the death of their only child. The ripples of this war didn't end here, and they weren't going to end for a long time. Ginny knew. He'd seen it in her eyes at Fred's funeral. He'd seen that dark despairing look hanging over her like a cloud.

A sharp abrupt knock broke the silence of their compartment. They all turned towards the door in unison. The train wasn't even moving yet; surely the trolley woman hadn't already started her rounds. The knock sounded again, a little more forcefully this time.

The three exchanged glances, wondering which of them would volunteer to meet the mystery knocker. Hermione gave Ron an expectant poke in the ribs. The redhead frowned and muttered a rather impressive string of curses as he rose to his feet. He clambered over to the compartment door and slid it open.

Harry saw Ron's face turn several shades of red before paling dramatically. "What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" he spat.

At the sound of Malfoy's name, Harry felt his lip curl down in an instinctive snarl. He leaned forward in order to better see the intruding Slytherin.

"Manners, Weasel," Malfoy sneered coldly. "And it's none of _your_ business why I'm here. I need to talk to Potter."

"Harry doesn't want to see you!" Ron hissed, his fists balling menacingly.

Harry saw Malfoy's face darken. "What are you, Weasley, his mother? If Potter doesn't want to talk to me then let him tell me himself." Malfoy slid past Ron into the compartment, his flint grey eyes immediately finding Harry's.

"I need to speak with you, Potter." Malfoy lifted his chin, clearly expecting his order to be followed without any further delay.

Harry's eyes shifted from Ron, who was practically quaking with anger, to Hermione, who was bravely attempting to restrain her boyfriend, back to Malfoy, who was looking strangely nervous.

Harry straightened in his seat. "Get lost, Malfoy."

The Slytherin's jaw tightened visibly. "How dare you—"

"No, how dare you!" Harry leapt to his feet, finding some freedom in the anger that rose in him. "Barging into our compartment, demanding an audience with me! What makes you think that I would ever want to talk to you about anything?"

Malfoy turned his head, his features blank and unreadable. "Potter," he said softly, so that only Harry could hear. "You think I want to do this? I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important." Malfoy looked at him then, and Harry felt the heat in his chest go cold. The Slytherin looked so different now than when Harry had first met him all those years ago. There was something fundamentally different about him—something that had stripped him down and laid him bare. His face was peeled of its childish arrogance, only to be replaced with an expression that held whispers of a darkness Harry was almost intimately familiar with.

Harry averted his eyes, unable to stand the connection a moment longer. He didn't like feeling similar to Malfoy in any way, shape or fashion. But…he couldn't deny the twinge of curiosity that was bubbling in his stomach. "Fine," he found his lips moved on their own accord, "but make it fast alright?"

His peripheral saw Ron and Hermione freeze, goggling at him, but his attention was focused solely on Malfoy, whose lips curled into the smallest of smiles. Seeming to catch himself, Malfoy twisted his face back into his usual arrogant scowl. "Good. Follow me. We can speak privately in my compartment.

"How did you manage a private compartment?" Ron asked with obvious suspicion.

"I've been sleeping with the Headmaster, didn't you know?" Malfoy replied too quickly. Nevertheless Ron and Hermione both blanched. "How do you think I got it, Weasley?" the blonde snapped. "My family and I were the only Slytherins who stayed at Hogwarts after the battle. Did you honestly think they would let us sit just anywhere? My parents of course, detest trains, so they Apparated home, leaving me with my own compartment. Now if you're completely satisfied, Potter says he wants to make our meeting fast."

The three Gryffindors exchanged a look. They knew perfectly well that Malfoy's parents hadn't Apparated home simply because they didn't like trains. Over the past couple of weeks, Lucius Malfoy had somehow managed to come across the kitchen's stash of ale and Firewhiskey, and had thus made himself habitually and incandescently drunk. The teachers hadn't really minded as long as he kept to himself, but when he had started becoming violent towards the other students, McGonagall herself had discretely escorted the two elder Malfoys off the premises.

At first Harry had wondered why she had not just sent Lucius straight off to Azkaban, but it seemed McGonagall thought Voldemort had torn enough families apart.

Malfoy, ignoring their looks, turned on his heel and strutted out of the compartment. Harry quickly followed.

The two boys walked in silence; one leading, the other following. Sooner than Harry expected, Malfoy came to a stop, made a sharp turn, and disappeared into the left compartment.

Harry stood just outside the doorway, suddenly doubting his decision to come. What if Malfoy had planned something; some sort of grand revenge? It wasn't beyond the little twit to try for some sort of cheap sabotage. Harry's hand wandered down to his pocket, making sure his wand was within quick reach.

Taking a deep collecting breath, Harry entered the compartment. Malfoy was facing the window, staring distantly out at the darkening horizon. "Close the door, if you would," he said quietly, in that same sincere tone that so irked Harry's nerves.

Harry turned back to slide the door shut, and when he spun back around Malfoy was standing mere inches from him, grey eyes restlessly searching his own. With a strangled sort of noise Harry fell back into the door, his hand tightly gripping his wand.

The blonde sneered. "I'm not going to attack you, Potter. If I was going to I would have done it with your back turned."

"The cowardly way," Harry seethed.

"The smart way," Malfoy returned with a coy smile.

Malfoy was too close, much too close. Harry could barely breathe and not detect his scent of mint and spice. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

The Slytherin shifted uneasily and took a step back. "Well," he sounded choked, "you remember, back at Hogwarts…in the Room of Requirement…" Malfoy trailed off, looking stern.

"Yes?"

Malfoy took another step back, his peculiar sincerity vanishing like the sun when it parts from the day. "My mother told me what happened in the Forbidden Forest."

"What?"

"She told me that you died and came back."

Harry hissed. "If you brought me here to ask me about what happened in the forest then save your sorry breath, Malfoy." With an icy glare Harry turned to leave.

"Potter!" Malfoy caught Harry by the arm. "No, wait, that's not what I came here to talk about."

Harry tried to jerk out of the other boy's grasp, his temper flaring, "Then spit it out! I'm not going to waste the entire trip home listening to your arrogant nonsense."

Harry felt the light pressure of Malfoy's hand leave his arm. There was a moment then where the only sound was the clacking of steel against steel as the train sped along the tracks. It seemed loud and overly straining in the otherwise silent room. "What I wanted to say was…back at Hogwarts…when we were in the Room of Requirement and Crabbe started the fire." Harry slowly began to turn back towards the blonde. "I…I was so sure that you would leave us…leave _me_ to die there in that room." Green met grey. "But you didn't. You…you came back."

Malfoy was paler than Harry had ever seen him, as if the words he spoke brought upon him a realization that he wasn't quite able to fathom. "Why did you do it, Potter? After all the shit we've gone through…you had no reason to come back."

Harry felt his throat go tight. "Well I—I couldn't very well just leave you there to die now could I."

"Why not?" there was an undercut of pain in his tone. "I would have left you without a second thought."

"I know," Harry replied. "That's why I had to do it." Their gaze finally broke. "Now, if we're done here—"

"I owe you my life," Malfoy continued. "If it weren't for you—"

"Malfoy—"

"God dammit, Potter, will you let me finish!" Malfoy snapped, his entire body trembling with effort to contain his emotion. With a deep calming breath, Malfoy extended his hand out to Harry.

The dark haired boy stared down at it blankly.

Malfoy gave an exasperated sigh. "Malfoys do not take life debts lightly."

Harry glanced up to study Malfoy's face. Finding nothing, his gaze returned to the pale artistic hand that was offered out before him. "Malfoy look, you really don't have to do this."

"This is all I have, Potter. No strings, no hidden agendas, it's just my hand and what I can offer you. I want…to start over."

Harry grimaced, his mind immediately traveling back to Malfoy Manor and Peter Pettigrew. He shook the thought from his head. He was tempted to tell Malfoy that his concept of a life debt was a bit off… but for some reason, words were beyond his reach.

Without really considering it, Harry took Malfoy's hand in his own. It slipped in comfortably, and felt cool and soft against his own skin. Something similar to electricity jumped through Harry's hand, shot up his arm, and down his spine. Harry wondered for a brief moment if Malfoy had somehow learned to use advanced wandless magic, and was now going to maliciously torture him. But nothing beyond that incessant tingle ailed his body. They offered a mutual curt nod and before he knew it, Harry was walking back towards his own compartment.

He slid into the compartment, his brow furrowed in amazement. What in the world had he just done? Harry lifted his hand, studying it scrupulously.

"Harry." Hermione's voice sounded distant. "Harry, are you alright?"

Ron stood up, grabbing Harry's shoulders firmly. "He didn't do anything to you did he, mate?"

Harry's eyes remained glued to his hand. "No." There was a short yet palpable pause. "We shook hands actually."

Ron's hands recoiled, as if he had just touched something foul. "You did what?" he squeaked.

Harry plopped down in his seat in stony silence. He honestly didn't really know what he had done. How could he have possibly made peace with that sniveling rotten excuse for a wizard? Not that it mattered really; Malfoy would never honor such an agreement.

"Hermione quick!" Ron sputtered, horrified. "Get some disinfectant or something!"

Hermione glowered at him. "Oh hush, Ron! Harry most certainly does not need disinfectant!" She gave the redhead a demeaning look before turning to Harry. Her face immediately melted into desperation. "You are alright, aren't you Harry?"

He gave the pair a withering look. "Of course I'm alright." He forced his hand down to his side, stretching and contorting his fingers awkwardly in attempt to rid himself of the insistent tingling.

Hermione and Ron exchanged furtive glances. Hermione leaned towards him, her eyes gleaming brightly, as they often did when she was trying to figure something out. "Will you…tell us what happened?"

Harry could tell she was trying to choose her words carefully, and figured he should do so as well. "Well," his speech was slow, thoughtful, "we were alone in the compartment, and he asked what happened in the forest—"

"That bastard." Ron muttered.

Ignoring him, Harry continued. "I didn't tell him of course, but I don't think that's what he really wanted anyway. He wanted…" Harry paused, replaying the scene over in his mind. "He wanted to make peace I guess…you know, because I saved his life and all."

Hermione frowned. "He wanted…a truce?"

Harry averted his eyes, feeling oddly embarrassed about the whole situation. He knew it sounded ridiculous.

"And you," Ron sounded confused, "accepted this…truce?"

Harry nodded, flushing.

The redhead shifted uncomfortably. "So, what does that even mean?"

Harry bit his lip. "Um…well actually, he said he wanted to start over." Harry gazed up at his best friend, whose eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his skull.

Ron burst. "You can't be effing serious! Harry! You can't possibly entertain the thought of becoming friends with that no good, snobbish, cocky, ferret-faced, insufferable, arrogant—"

"Too many adjectives, Ron," Hermione whispered gently.

Ron rounded on her. "Hermione! Honestly! You know how nasty Malfoy is! What if this is some sort of diabolical plan for revenge or something?"

"It's not like we're going to see each other, Ron." Harry soothed. "He doesn't know that I'm staying with you for the summer, and I'm sure he won't be able to find Grimmauld Place." He looked to Hermione for backing.

Hermione hesitated at Harry's urging gaze. "He's right, Ron. There's no need to worry."

Ron made mutters of protest but fell into his seat complacently, outnumbered and defeated.

Harry offered Hermione a small thankful smile, which she promptly ignored. The three reassumed their positions prior to Malfoy's unexpected interruption, and more or less fell into silent thought.

The silence was actually quite refreshing; it gave Harry time to sort through his thoughts—to ponder the events of his last two weeks at Hogwarts without fear of interruption. His mind drifted back to several of the parties that had ensued after the downfall of the Dark Lord. All the Slytherins, including Malfoy and his family, of course, had been notably absent from all of these celebrations.

Come to think of it, the Malfoys hadn't been at any of the funerals either. Not even Snape's. Not that Harry cared whether Malfoy was there or not. It wasn't any of his concern what Malfoy did with his spare time. In fact, why was he still thinking of Malfoy at all? He didn't care one way or another. It's not like they would be seeing each other again anyway.

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_**~xXxXx~**_

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**If you decide to review, it would be greatly appreciated!**


	2. Dark Dream

**A/N**: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! :D This chapter is short yes, but don't worry! it'll be a one time thing (I hope).

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Time dances lulling past_

_I gaze through the looking glass_

_And feel just beyond my grasp is heaven_

_Sacred geometry where movement is poetry_

_Visions of you and me forever_

_Dance me into the night_

_Underneath the moon shining so bright_

_Let the dark waltz begin_

_Let me wheel let me spin_

_Let it take me away, turning me into the light._

-Hayley Westenra

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

The night was dark, and the large corridor down which Harry was walking was unnervingly cold for such a warm summer. Harry continued at a brisk pace through the elaborately decorated hallway, and he felt a startling chill race down his spine as he realized where he was. Malfoy Manor.

His feet carried him swiftly through the halls, deep into the core of the house. Somehow, he knew exactly where he was going without really knowing how to get there. There was an intense pulling in his chest, as if he was snagged by a hook and being reeled in.

A few minutes later found him standing just outside the drawing room, staring expectantly at the large blackened doors that barred his way. He tried jiggling the knobs, but the doors where securely locked, and he was without a wand.

Harry was just about to turn to leave, wondering why he had even come here in the first place when a sounding crash echoed from behind the double doors. Harry froze, and suddenly the halls began to shake with the thundering boom of a voice.

"This is your fault, boy!" a man shrieked from somewhere beyond the doors. "You are a disgrace to this family! _Crucio!_"

Screams of agony rang in Harry's ears, sending bouts of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He wanted to run, to fight, to do _something_, but his feet stood fast.

He knew that voice—he'd know it anywhere. "You're so weak!" Lucius Malfoy screeched, his voice high and broken with rage. "You have no right to carry the Malfoy name! You honestly thou—" but the rest of his words were lost on Harry. _The Malfoy name…_it…that couldn't be Draco in there? _No…Lucius wouldn't…_

But a weak trembling voice confirmed Harry's fears. "Father, I—"

"You dare touch me! You filth!" There was another crash, followed by another cry of anguish.

All at once, Harry's senses came alive. He rushed to the door, beating his fists into the hard wood, but no sound came from his pounding. He opened his mouth, screaming with all his might, only to find his voice hollow and silent.

He grabbed at the doorknobs, pulling at them with such force that he could feel his shoulders joints unhinging. Malfoy's screams echoed endlessly, shaking Harry to the very core and making his body tremor.

Why couldn't he help? Why couldn't he open the doors?

"Harry!" Malfoy cried.

Harry threw himself at the doors. "I'm here!"

"Harry!"

Something was gripping his shoulders, pulling him back.

"Harry!"

"No!" Harry struggled blindly, clawing at the hands on his shoulders.

"Harry, for Merlin's sake, wake up!"

Harry jolted, his world swirling into blurry color. His chest was covered in a thick sheen of sweat and the sheets of his bed were stuck to his torso. His bed—so it had been a dream. He was at the Burrow, and it had all been a _dream_. Ron hovered above him, looking green.

"Harry?" Ron croaked, "You're not having nightmares again are you? I thought those would've stopped when…when You Know Who died." All color rapidly drained from his freckled face. "He is…dead this time, right?"

Harry clamped his eyes shut, trying to control his breathing and steady the fierce pounding in his chest.

"Harry!" Ron squeaked urgently, shaking him by his shoulders.

Harry shoved Ron's hands away. "It wasn't him, Ron!"

"What was it then?"

"It…" Harry frowned. "It was nothing. Just a dream." With a deeply furrowed brow, Harry gingerly settled himself back under the sheets.

"But—"

"Just let it be, Ron!" Harry snapped unkindly. He knew the redhead would sulk later about the reprimand, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. He watched Ron retreat back to his bed with only a mild pang of guilt. There was something about that dream—it had felt too real. Just like before, when Voldemort had…Harry shook himself. No, it was nothing like those dreams. It couldn't be. Harry rubbed at his right shoulder, trying to soothe the ghosting ache away. It couldn't have been real.

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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:( So I'm sorry for the shortness (and the randomness as well) but it'll all come together and I promise a much longer 3rd chapter!

**R&R pweeeeeeease!**


	3. Quidditch Anyone?

**A/N**: So all the OOCness here has a purpose...I swear.

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Well I can't stand to look at you now_

_This revelation's out of my hands_

_Still I can't bear the thought of you now_

_This complication's leaving me scared_

_Stay when you think you want me_

_Pray when you need advice_

_Hey keep your sickness off me, I'm trying to get through_

_Blame all your weakness on me_

_Shame that I'm so contrite_

_Hey keep your fingers off me, why can't I get through?_

-Seether

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Harry and Ron spoke very little the following morning. The larger part of the Weasley family decided to ignore whatever little spat the two boys were enduring, believing it to be nothing more than moodiness caused by teenage hormones. It did not however, go unnoticed by the two older women of the house: Hermione and Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry!" Hermione whispered for the third time that morning during breakfast. A sudden sharp jab to the ribs finally caught Harry's attention.

He turned, glowering. "What, Hermione?"

"Harry, what's up with you?" she hissed, giving him one of her stern looks. "Ron's really upset about something you said, and he won't stop sulking about it."

Harry shoved a biscuit into his mouth. "Wel' den, why 'on't you 'alk to 'im bou' ih." Crumbs fell from his mouth, landing in messy splatters over his plate and earning him a rather disgusted look from Hermione.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley chirped, "do try to finish chewing before talking."

Harry swallowed. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley." He then promptly tore into his pancakes, thankful to now have an excuse not to answer Hermione's interrogating questions.

But Harry's strategy of evasion was not beyond either of the women. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look. Harry knew they were speaking in that sort of telepathic eye speech that all women seemed to be endowed with, and frankly, it thoroughly pissed him off.

"I have a splendid idea!" Mrs. Weasley chimed suddenly. The Weasley men all lowered their heads, silently preparing for some horrendous chore that would inevitably ruin their Saturday morning. "How about," the boys held their breath, "a refreshing game of Quidditch?"

A universal sputter broke out over the table, contrasted only by Hermione's quiet giggle.

"Mum," George said, "you can't be serious. Do you realize what Percy could do to himself?"

Percy glared over at his younger brother, but the look held no malice. The two had become nigh inseparable ever since Fred's death. No one had expected it. But at the funeral, it had been Percy who'd held George in his arms and sheltered him from the restless prying eyes of the crowd. It had been Percy who'd picked up the pieces of the first 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' box that Fred and George had created together, and it had been Percy who'd helped him charm it back into one piece. As far as Harry knew, Percy was the only thing holding George's head above water.

But that didn't change the fact that the Weasley house was noticeably darker than it had been just a few years ago, despite Mrs. Weasley's attempts to keep up her chipper routine. She tried her best to keep up her façade of happiness, though Harry would never understand why. Wasn't this supposed to be a time of mourning?

"Oh, George. Come now, it'll be fun." How could they act like the world could go back to the way it was? How could they pretend that nothing had ever happened?

Mrs. Weasley beamed. "You could pick captains and such. We have enough brooms I'm sure." How many had died for the cause exactly? His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Hedwig, Mad Eye, Dobby, Fred, Tonks, Lupin…and how many more?

"Come now! What do you say, Harry?"

Harry started. He turned slowly towards her, trying his best to grin innocently. What had they been talking about exactly?

Mrs. Weasley smiled expectantly, while all the other Weasleys, save Ron, goggled at him.

Harry stuttered. "Well—I—uh—" but just then—a sound from the heavens—a sharp knock sounded at the front door. Harry practically threw himself from his seat and rushed from the room.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley called, but Harry was already halfway to the door.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley! I got it!" Anything to get out of that room. Anything to get away from that deceptively cheery guise. He slowed himself once he neared the door, finally feeling comfortable in his aloneness.

It didn't even cross his mind to wonder who would visit the Weasley house at 9AM on a Saturday morning until the door was already halfway open. And by then it was already too late.

"Oi, Potter!" the young blonde smirked. "What a not so pleasant surprise. Then again I suppose I could've done much worse considering where I am."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Malfoy?" he squeaked.

"Well spotted, Potter. You're powers of perception are still in tact I see. Can't say much about everything else though." Malfoy replied coyly, arching one of his pale eyebrows. "So, are you going to invite me in, or are you going to be rude and have my freshly starched robes wither in this heat?"

Stunned, Harry shifted, leaving space for Malfoy to walk in. The Slytherin stepped through the threshold, a content smirk plastered on his face. "I must say, Potter," he said, turning to examine the house. "I didn't really expect _you_ to answer the door, what with you trying to keep the fact that you're staying here hush hush and all."

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley's voice came from the dining room. "Who is it?"

Harry jumped, somehow startled by the prospect of talking to Mrs. Weasley in Malfoy's presence. "It's…um," the Gryffindor turned, giving the blonde a stern look. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"What? You're not happy to see me?" Malfoy sneered unbecomingly.

Harry fumed, feeling the kindling of his temper begin to ignite. "Malfoy, I'm not going to ask you again." It was a struggle to keep his voice even.

Mrs. Weasley's voice rang once more. "Harry? Did you hear me?"

"Malfoy, you have no right to be here," Harry seethed. "You know very well what you're father has done to the Weasleys. They won't want you here!"

The sarcastic mask on the Slytherin's face suddenly vanished, replaced with a hard, cold, blankness. "Still trying to play the part of the protector, Potter? Why don't you let people decide things for themselves every once and a while."

"Harry?" there was the distinct sound of bustling footsteps and before Harry had the chance to gather himself, Mrs. Weasley had entered the room. She froze; her eyes pinned on the young Malfoy.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley," Malfoy beamed, inclining his head. "I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, but I have heard so many stories about the Burrow that I found I just had to see it. And I must say, Mrs. Weasley," the blonde stepped forward, giving her an impish and almost seductive smile, "your decorator is absolutely superb."

"I—uh" Mrs. Weasley squeaked, looking horrified. "I don't have a decorator."

Malfoy feigned shock, his eyes going large and filling with dewy amazement. "No decorator? Why, Mrs. Weasley, you cannot possibly be suggesting that you run this house all on your own. By Merlin, what talent you must have! How your children must admire you for being so accomplished!"

Harry rolled his eyes in frustration, watching Mrs. Weasley's face slowly transpire into flattered warmth as Malfoy continued his complementary rant. Surely Mrs. Weasley could not be so dense as to actually fall for Malfoy's incessant brownnosing.

"My dear boy, what a little charmer you are! Would you like some breakfast?" Mrs. Weasley asked warmly.

Okay, so maybe she was that dense.

Harry did not miss the triumphant smirk Malfoy sent in his direction before replying. "I would be delighted, Mrs. Weasley. I'm actually quite famished."

The two moved towards the dining room, chattering away, while Harry followed in their wake, completely and utterly aghast. This couldn't actually be happening. Malfoy had not showed up on the Burrow doorstep early on a Saturday morning, and he certainly wasn't about to join the Weasley family for breakfast. It wasn't possible. The three entered the dining room, which immediately fell into a staring silence.

Hermione glanced at Harry for an explanation, but all he could do was shrug helplessly. Ron, in the meanwhile, simply went through a myriad of expressions, ranging from surprise, to terror, to absolute rage.

"Mum," Ron's voice was strained, "what is _Malfoy_ doing here?" Malfoy's name sounded like sour venom, filled with underscores of loathing that even Harry couldn't match. But then again, the Malfoys had done a lot more to the Weasley family than whatever trivial frivolities had filled his own rivalry with the youngest member. Harry supposed he really couldn't blame Ron for his anger towards the son of the man who had almost killed a beloved sister, and attempted to destroy the reputation of a loving father. But even still, some flicker of emotion twitched in Harry's stomach at Ron's unabashed glare; some part of him that had believed the offer that Malfoy had made him on the Hogwarts Express. He immediately extinguished the emotion, preferring to think it was indigestion.

"He's going to eat breakfast with us." Mrs. Weasley smiled. Everyone else gaped. "Well, he's traveled so far, and just to see the Burrow. He thought we had a decorator! Can you believe that, Arthur? A decorator!"

Mr. Weasley gazed up at his wife, a sunken smile marking his features. "You do a wonderful job, Molly."

The Slytherin threw Ron a discreet wink, before turning to the others, and Harry watched as the redhead's face went purple with rage. "Good morning, Mr. Weasley. I'm glad to see you're looking well."

The creases in Arthur's face seemed to multiply as he struggled through his thoughts. "Thank you, my boy. It's Draco, right?"

Malfoy nodded.

"I…your father, is he—" Mr. Weasley cut off, looking pale and shaken. "Never mind. I suppose you can take Ginny's seat, right there next to Harry."

Harry paled.

If Malfoy wondered why Ginny wasn't eating breakfast with her family, he didn't voice it. The two boys walked to their respective seats, and the blonde proceeded to make amiable conversation with the family. Percy, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and shockingly even George soon fell into his charming talk. Honestly, Harry couldn't believe it. Not that he wasn't up for the whole forgiving and forgetting bit, but this was _Malfoy_! The wounds of the past were still too fresh, and frankly something felt very off kilter about the whole thing. Malfoy shouldn't be here—not at the Weasleys—forgiven or not. Too much had happened, and it was too soon. He looked around at the family with their smiles and their jovial laughter, and he wondered why they did it. Were they really so desperate to forget? Then suddenly, Harry, who had never once thought anything ill of the Weasleys suddenly found the answer to his question. They were afraid. It was a fear that had nothing to do with battlefields, and everything to do with death. Coming to terms with your own death was one thing, but coming to terms with the death of a loved one was another thing entirely. Dealing with it—lingering on and sifting through the empty places that were once so alive. Was it really easier just to ignore it all, pretend as if life could continue on as it always had? Could he blame them for it?

Hermione kept sending Harry stressful looks, while Ron just demolished his food with his fork, but Harry wasn't paying attention to either of them. The only thing he could feel now was the odd prickling presence of Malfoy at his side.

He didn't dare look at the blonde, but he didn't really need to. He could practically feel every move, and every look Malfoy gave. Harry was overwhelmingly conscious of the large amount of food Malfoy piled onto his plate, of how his wrists looked overly thin when they were exposed during a long reach across the table, and of how his foot would occasionally brush Harry's when he turned.

Harry's mind spun. What in the world was Malfoy doing here? Harry had been perfectly ready to leave him behind. He had been perfectly ready to forget. But once again, Malfoy insisted on being the center of Harry's attention.

"Oh, Draco, dear!" Mrs. Weasley fussed. "You really should join the others for a Quidditch game! Ron mentioned that you played." Ron proceeded to choke profusely, while Harry nearly gagged on his juice.

Harry felt Malfoy's stormy eyes flicker over him. "That would be wonderful, Mrs. Weasley, if you have an extra broom."

"But, Malfoy," Hermione leaned forward looking anxious, "you're wearing such nice robes. You'll ruin them in Quidditch." Harry could have kissed her. Hermione, the clever girl, she would find a way to get them out of this!

Malfoy favored her with poisonous smile. "You're quite right, Hermione," her first name sounded thick and syrupy in his voice. "Harry," the hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose at Malfoy's informal address. Harry turned, his eyes locking with Malfoy's. "You'll let me borrow something right?" he asked, his sweetness something beyond mocking.

Harry glared, hoping the look would somehow break down the other boy's pretense. And then he saw it again; somewhere behind the deception, beneath the mocking, there was the merest flash of sincerity, the very same sincerity that had ruffled Harry's nerves the day they left Hogwarts. It rippled for but a moment, lingering like the feeling of a cool breeze on a hot day, and then it was gone and Malfoy's expression resolved. But that simple flicker washed away any smart remark that Harry had been forming.

"Yeah, I guess," he said weakly.

He could feel the table gape silently at him, broken only by Mrs. Weasley's cheery laughter. But his gaze remained locked with Malfoy's, questioning him, searching. Malfoy merely reflected the expression, grey eyes asking questions of their own.

With a broad smile Mrs. Weasley leaned towards the two boys. "Well, Harry, why don't you take Draco up to your room and give him some clothes. We'll get everything else ready down here."

The two stood in unison. "Thank you very much for breakfast, Mrs. Weasley," Malfoy voiced, breaking his locked stare with Harry to give Ron's mother a pleasant smile. "You're blueberry pancakes are the best I've ever had borrow none."

Harry didn't bother to be discrete when he rolled his eyes. "Come on, Malfoy, this way." Harry trekked through the narrow hallways and staircases, intensely aware of Malfoy's steps behind him.

"You never answered my question," Harry said once they were out of hearing range of the dining room.

"And since when am I required to answer all the questions you ask me, Potter?"

Harry reached the doorway of the room he shared with Ron, and spun ferociously. "Look, Malfoy, I don't know what you're doing here, but if this is some sort of trick I swear I'll—"

"Whoa there, Potter. Don't go getting your knickers all in a twist." Malfoy spoke in his usual drawling tone. "I'm not here to do your precious Weasley family any harm nor any of the other people you decide to waste your breath on. Hell, Potter, you'd think I have the word 'evil' tattooed on my forehead or something."

"No, just on your arm." Harry returned, and immediately regretted it.

Malfoy's face set into a cold fury. "Better than a stupid scar," he said tersely.

"I don't want a fight, Malfoy."

"Then don't start one, Potter."

Harry could see him struggling, his jaw tensing and relaxing in rapid repetition. The Gryffindor sighed, his brow knotting in frustration. In one swift motion, Harry turned and entered the room. He made quick work of rummaging through his trunk, and threw Malfoy the first appropriate set of clothes he could find.

Malfoy didn't even take the time to ridicule the old tattered clothing Harry had thrown him. Instead he merely stared at Harry as he brushed past him out the door. "See you on the field then, Potter." Malfoy sneered.

Harry fumed in silence. How could he have ever felt pity for that sorry bastard, even in his dreams?

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

And yus...a Malfoy in the Burrow...that should lead to interesting times huh? Ok so maybe you're not going to find out why he's there until waaaaay later but...it'll be ok!

**PLEASE R&R! I'll love you forever if you do (in a nonsexual way of course). :)**


	4. Of Beaters and Keepers

**A/N**: Woot the Quidditch game has finally arrived!

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Just a day, just an ordinary day_

_Just trying to get by_

_Just a boy, just an ordinary boy_

_But he was looking to the sky_

_And as he asked if I would come along, I started to realize_

_That every day he finds just what he's looking for_

_Like a shooting star he shines, and he said_

_Take my hand, live while you can_

_Don't you see your dreams lie right in the palm of your hand?_

-Vanessa Carlton

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Though it had taken an extra twenty minutes, Mrs. Weasley had somehow managed to coax Ginny downstairs and out onto their makeshift Quidditch field. They all stood in a scattered ring, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Only Malfoy and Ginny remained silent. Harry hardly knew if Ginny noticed Malfoy was there at all.

He shook his head sadly, gazing at the family: Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Malfoy and himself; that made nine; barley enough for _one_ Quidditch team.

"What are we gonna do about the odd number?" Charlie asked, expressing Harry's thoughts.

George scoffed, "The girls together will count as one of course. Oh but wait," he favored Percy with a sly grin. "I forgot we had three girls here."

"Stop being such a wanker, George," Percy shot back, his voice strained from holding back his laughter.

"Much agreed!" Hermione chimed.

Ron snickered. "Hermione, face it, you haven't played a day of Quidditch in your life. You're going to want all the help you can get." The brunette threw him a pointed glare.

"And the captains?" Percy asked unanimously.

"Oi, just give it to Harry and Ron." George waved the question off. "They're having a spat anyways so why not let them duke it out over Quidditch."

Harry heard Malfoy cluck his tongue softly behind him. "Another lovers spat I'd wager," he whispered, half to himself.

"Fine by me," Harry said, decidedly ignoring the Slytherin's tantalizing remark.

Ron moved over towards Harry, resentment marking his every step. "Me too."

"You pick first, Ron," Harry said gently, feeling a sudden twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Their fight was pointless really, like most of them were, and mostly Harry's fault anyway.

"Don't do me any favors." Ron glared. "George!" George beamed, victory dancing his way behind Ron.

Harry frowned. "Fine. Charlie!"

"Bill!"

Harry faltered, gazing distractedly between Percy and the two girls. "Um…Percy!" Hermione glowered. "Sorry, 'Mione," Harry grumbled, shrugging.

"Hermione, Ginny, come on over here then."

And there Malfoy was, standing lazily in Harry's old tattered jumper and too big jeans, looking absolutely oblivious to the fact that he was the last pick. "Guess that means I'm stuck with you, eh, Potter?"

"Just get over here, Malfoy!"

Malfoy saluted, sarcasm marking his movement. "Yes, captain!"

The four huddled together, all looking expectantly at Harry, who was desperately wishing that Malfoy would stop grinning like a madman. "All right, so, as far as I know there will be no seekers in this game. So that means there will be two chasers, one beater, and one keeper." Harry scratched his head reminiscently, remembering how Oliver had once told him that he would make a fair beater. "I was thinking I could be the beater, unless one of you would rather take the position."

Percy shook his head. "I don't care, just as long as I'm not keeper."

Charlie clapped his brother on the back, "It's ok, Perc, we can be the chasers."

Harry sighed. "Great, then that makes you keeper, Malfoy. Think you can handle that?"

The Slytherin's lip curled up into a coy smile. "You ask as if you think I can't do it."

The huddle broke apart. Charlie and Percy began to walk over to the shed to gather the brooms, heads bowed together in planning. Harry straightened, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Well, seeker and keeper are two completely different positions," he mimicked Malfoy's sarcastic drawl.

The blonde's nose wrinkled with a scoffing laughter. "Thanks for that wonderful insight, Potter. It's suddenly all so very clear to me now. Keeper, seeker…different. Oh, I never knew!"

Harry caught himself smiling, and quickly erased the expression, condemning his mouth's betrayal. "Quit being melodramatic, Malfoy, I'm serious. Have you ever played as keeper before?"

Malfoy turned, walking towards where Charlie and Percy stood with the brooms and Harry's club. "Let's find out shall we?"

Harry stuck his tongue out childishly as the two teams mounted their brooms and took off in unison. Harry faltered slightly; he hadn't flown in quite sometime, and his broom wasn't exactly in its prime. It rattled between his legs like a shivering cat, but Harry held firm and tried to hover as steadily as possible. George, however, was zipping around and having a regular hay day. Harry face drooped in anticipation of his team's immanent defeat.

In the distance, Harry saw Mr. Weasley exit the house and stride purposefully across the lawn, a large and rather tarnished looking trunk cradled under his arm. "Ready boys and girls?" he shouted with a large grin, plopping the trunk down on the dewy grass.

With a sharp flick of his wand, Mr. Weasley opened the trunk, grabbed a standard sized quaffle and made his way to the center of the field. The two teams gathered around him in a circle, hovering expectantly. Then suddenly, the quaffle was in the air and the teams exploded with a burst of energy. Harry shot forward with the rest, grabbing for the large ball, but he became lost in the confusion. He was so used to watching the game from his safe haven above the stadium that he hardly knew where he was by the end of the scramble. He clenched his fist tightly around the awkwardly heavy club, and lifted himself higher.

Mr. Weasley had just released the single bludger, which proceeded to dart about the field haphazardly. But the bludger wasn't what Harry's eye was trained on. George—who had caught the quaffle on the throw off—was making a direct line towards Malfoy and the goal, quaffle tucked neatly under his arm.

With an impressive spin George hurled the ball at the goal with astounding accuracy and speed. _Shit. We're screwed_,Harry thought, crestfallen, _not even Oliver could have blocked a throw like that._

Malfoy hovered just below the hoop, looking bored. He didn't even move as George sped towards him, he merely sat; so silent, so still. And then, in the blink of an eye, Malfoy rocketed upwards, his left arm jutting out, firmly putting an end to the quaffle's designated path. With an extraordinary roll Malfoy safely curled the ball into his chest. George paled and began to curse indistinguishably, but Malfoy's eyes moved only to Harry, who flushed with embarrassment. A victorious smirk spread across the blonde's face as he threw the ball to Charlie.

"Good enough for you, Potter?" Malfoy cooed. Harry didn't respond.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Man, that was one hell of a game!" George exclaimed once again. "Malfoy, why the hell didn't you play keeper for Slytherin?" The game had lasted much longer than expected, until everyone could barely even fly straight much less attempt to play a game. They had lost count of the score somewhere along the way, but it hadn't really mattered. The game had been outrageously one sided, favoring Harry's team. In the course of six hours, there had only been three goals scored on Malfoy: two by George, and one, surprisingly enough, by Hermione, which the Slytherin had later blamed on the glare of the sun and Hermione's unfair exploitation of her feminine wiles.

The group had just finished supper, and was now gathered in the small yet quaint living room. They were sprawled out over the floor and overstuffed couches, talking excitedly about the game. The only ones not participating in the animated chatter were Ginny, who had retired to her room, and Ron, who was even in a fouler mood after being slaughtered in Quidditch. He hadn't exactly had his best day at playing Keeper. It seemed that the more Malfoy had blocked, the more Ron had missed. The redhead now sat by himself in an armchair, gazing broodingly into the fire.

Malfoy smirked, taking another drink of his butterbeer. "Being a seeker is more dramatic I guess, and what can I say, I'm a sucker for a good show."

Harry sniggered, shaking his head absently. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. What's the point of not playing to your strengths?" Harry's lighthearted laughter was dulled as those stormy grey eyes became fixed on his. Despite the warmth of the fire, that gaze still made his blood run cold.

"And why is it," Malfoy turned back to George, "that you weren't a chaser?"

George chuckled, his grin growing noticeably wider. "Well Fred and I always found it much more entertaining to whack demonic bludgers at people's faces than to throw a stupid ball through some hoop. Plus, nobody freaks if you mess up, unless of course it kills a teammate…that would be bad."

"How Slytherin," Malfoy replied simply.

Just then Mrs. Weasley bustled into the living room, carrying a tray of freshly baked crumpets. Harry inhaled the sweet doughy smell, eyeing the snack greedily as Mrs. Weasley placed the tray down on a nearby table. "Oh, Draco dear," she said in her sing-song voice, "it really is much too late for you to be traveling back. You will stay the night won't you?" Harry suddenly lost his appetite.

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Weasley," Malfoy said in a syrupy tone, "but I don't want to be any more of a burden to you. I'm sure the Night Bus will take me as far as I need to go."

"The Night Bus!" Mrs. Weasley looked horrified. "You most certainly will not be taking that wretched thing! Come now, Ron can stay in George's room and you can stay with Harry. That'll be alright won't it?"

Harry blanched, and looked towards Hermione and then instinctively towards Ron.

George brightened. "I think it sounds fantastic." Apparently being good at Quidditch was enough to earn a vote from George.

"I really don't want to impose, Mrs. Weasley." A small smile started curling at the edge of Malfoy's mouth.

"Nonsense! You can leave first thing in the morning if you like, but I insist you stay the night! I'll send your mum an owl if that would make you feel better."

Malfoy straightened slightly. "Thank you but that won't be necessary. My parents are out of town for the month."

"They left you all alone?" Mrs. Weasley said with a knitted brow.

Malfoy gave her a sad smile, and Harry couldn't quite tell if it was real or not. "It's not so bad really. My parents travel a lot. I'm used to it now."

Mrs. Weasley's face seemed to drop with an intense sorrow. "Well," she said shakily, "you're welcome here any time."

"Thank you."

With a curt nod, Mrs. Weasley hurried out of the room, her eyes gleaming with threatening tears.

George sighed heavily. "There she goes again." He gestured at the door through which his mother had just fled. "She tries to keep things going around here the best she can, mostly for Ginny's sake I think, but it's been hard…on all of us." The twin gazed distantly towards the fire. It was strange looking at him now, knowing that there was no duplicate. He had cut his hair shortly after Fred had died, so that his scarred ear was in complete visibility. _Why should I try to hide my scar? _he had said,_ Fred rather liked it I think._ Like Mrs. Weasley, he too smiled during the day, but Harry imagined that somewhere in the darkness of the night, when nobody was looking, sadness found its way onto that freckled face.

Then, gingerly, with a certain softness and grace, Malfoy leaned forward and gently brushed the back of George's hand with his own. Harry watched in amazement, as the room seemed to still. George inclined his face towards Malfoy, his blue eyes hazy.

Malfoy's features were calm, tranquil, yet Harry saw something deeper his expression, "You remind me of him," the blonde said, his voice soft and low. The words were so simple, so obvious, but they rang through with a note of the purest kind of truth—the kind that shoots you straight through the heart.

George's throat tensed. "You think?" his reply was strained, and Harry could tell it took everything George had not to break down right then and there.

"I do."

George sniffled, and smiled awkwardly. "No…he was the funny one."

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Well that was fun right? Lol sorry it took so long to update, and I guess this wasn't the most exciting chapter buuuuut it'll all get better I promise! The next chapter is mostly done, and it's a bit short but pretty intense I think. Hope you're enjoying everything so far!

**Thanks to all the peeps who reviewed! It really keeps me going :)**


	5. Misunderstandings

**A/N**: Sorry this chapter took so long...I'm trying to be good and slow with my character development and it's haaaaaaard! Anyway...this talk needed to happen at some point...so I hope you enjoy our boys going at it :)

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_I am a question to the world_

_Not an answer to be heard_

_Or a moment that's held in your arms_

_And what do you think you'd every say_

_I won't listen anyway_

_You don't know me_

_And I'll never be what you want me to be._

_And what do you think you'd understand_

_I'm a boy, no, I'm a man_

_You can't take me and throw me away._

-John Rzeznik

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

The bedroom felt refreshingly cool after a short, but thorough, shower. Harry towel dried his hair as he watched Malfoy with a weary eye. The blonde stood with his back to Harry, staring out the far window with his arms wrapped around his torso. His silver hair still gleamed with wetness from his shower, making it reflect the moonlight even more brilliantly, shimmering like stars in a midnight sky. There was something almost ethereal about him standing there, so horribly soft, so horribly silent. His expression was unburdened by arrogance, and his shoulders, for once, were not rigid with anger. He looked almost…at peace.

"Enjoying the view, Potter?" Harry jumped, flushing at the realization that he had, in fact, been staring. He walked quickly over to his bed, throwing the towel over the headboard and exchanging it for a shirt. He threw the thin cotton over his head, consciously refusing to look at the other boy.

"You've been doing it all day," the blonde continued, turning towards him. "Looking for something?" Harry knew without looking that Malfoy's calm expression had reverted back into his signature sneer, and that he no longer stood with his shoulders relaxed.

"Do you blame me?"

"Don't answer a question with another question, Potter."

Harry glared. "And since when am I required to answer all the questions you ask me, Malfoy?"

Malfoy darkened. "Feeling oddly witty today, are we?"

"Call it what you will." Harry straightened defiantly. "I just don't think its fair that you expect me to answer all your questions when you've answered none of mine."

"And do you expect the same sort of exchange from the weasel and his little mudblood girlfriend?"

Harry started forward. "Don't bring them into this," he hissed with a thunderous clarity.

The blonde didn't back away from Harry's advance. In fact, he only seemed more encouraged. "Why not?"

"Because they've got nothing to do with it!" Harry could feel himself becoming incontrovertibly riled. What was it about Malfoy that always did this to him?

"They have everything to do with it," Malfoy's voice was the mirror of Harry's; smooth and acidic. "They're your friends aren't they?"

"What?"

"I made you an offer on that train, and you accepted it, right?"

Harry faltered. "Yes."

"And did you believe I was sincere?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, studying Malfoy's unreadable expression. "I don't know."

There was a pronounced pause. "You…don't know?"

"Well what the hell do you want me to think, Malfoy?" Harry exclaimed, moving towards the other boy once more. "Did you expect everything to just change when every time I look at you I see the person who helped kill Dumbledore? When you made my life a living hell every chance you got? Do you remember? Or has it all slipped from that pretty little blonde head of yours?"

They were mere inches from each other now. Malfoy's eyes had become downcast during Harry's outburst, preventing Harry from witnessing any emotion they might have held. All the memories, all the hatred, was rushing back now, and it was all Harry could do not to throw himself at the other boy.

When Malfoy did look up, there was the smallest hint of a playful smile reflected in his eyes. "You think I'm pretty?"

Harry froze at the unexpected answer. He closed his eyes, sighed, and turned away. "Look, if you're not going to be serious about this then—"

The Slytherin scoffed. "Serious? Is that what you'd like, Potter? Get real. You've already made up your mind about me. You're just like everybody else; always assuming they know how people are. Well, Potter, you _don't _know me. I thought maybe you would have been different, that maybe _you_ would have at least made an attempt to see through what happened at Hogwarts."

Harry whirled back towards Malfoy, his fists balled. "See through it?"

Even in the moonlight, Harry could see that Malfoy's cheeks were now red with anger. "Face it, Potter, you're so wrapped up in your golden shining idea about what's right and what's wrong that you don't even pay attention to the grey in between! Well I have a news flash for you—not everything is black and white! You think your life was the only one that was rough?" In his fit, Malfoy's hands somehow managed to find their way to the hem of his shirt. He tore the cloth over his head and threw it aside.

Harry's breath hitched and he stumbled backwards. His eyes scoured Malfoy's skin, noting that at the nape of his neck, his flawless pearly skin became a splash of bruises and dried blood. "Malfoy, how—"

"This is what my life was like every day!" Malfoy gestured wildly at his body. "But you don't want to know that do you! You don't want to know that I've endured pain far worse than anything the Cruciatus curse could ever inflict! You don't want to know about the Death Eaters that would drag me drunkenly up to their rooms after a party to satisfy their sick little fetishes while my parents sat there talking about family loyalty and acting like nothing was wrong! You don't want to know about the scars that have been magically encrypted into my body and had me bedridden for days! You don't want to know about that do you, Potter? Because you already know everything about me, right?"

"Malfoy I—" Harry was aghast. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Malfoy's torso, which was heaving with his labored breathing. Harry's gaze drifted down to Malfoy's left arm, where he found the ugly black mark cut through by a stark white line. Tears stung the back of his eyes, but Harry furiously pushed them back. What had he done to his arm? "I," he choked, memories of his dream suddenly rushing over him. "Did your father…do this to you?"

Malfoy ran his fingers through his fine hair, retrieving his shirt from the floor. "What do you think?"

Harry was petrified. "God," he breathed. He moved towards the blonde, cautiously, as though he might break if Harry made any sudden movements. Their gazes locked and Harry could feel the fragility of the moment—how Malfoy was using every ounce of willpower he had to remain still. "Malfoy, I—I really didn't…if I had known…do you…do you want me to call Mrs. Weasley? I'm sure she could—"

"I don't want her brought into this," he replied rigidly. "She has enough on her mind at the moment I think."

Harry softened, offering the other boy a sad frown. "What do you want to do then?"

"I'm tired," he said softly. "I just want to go to bed." He backed away from Harry and gingerly guided the shirt back over his body. Harry watched the other boy move around him and plop heavily down onto Harry's bed.

"You do know that's _my _bed right?"

"Hence the reason I picked it." Malfoy began to make himself comfortable under the soft cotton sheets.

Harry felt his mood shift ever so slightly. "Why don't you sleep in Ron's bed? He's the one who had to move out of here."

Malfoy smirked, his mask slipping back into place as easily as a knife slips through butter. "I'm choosing the lesser of two evils."

Harry shook his head, admitting defeat and settling himself into Ron's bed. He lay down, the warmness of his skin hypersensitive to the cool sheets. He closed his eyes, trying to let his mind fall into the dark stillness of the room, but his mind was a ringing echo of Malfoy's words. Where all those things true? And then there was that eerie dream. Dumbledore had said that Harry's visions would stop after he mastered Occlumancy, so, did that mean that it had just been a dream, and that the circumstances were coincidental?

"Hey, Potter?"

"Yeah?"

Harry could almost hear Malfoy smile in his voice. "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

The Gryffindor couldn't help the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Shut up and go to sleep, Malfoy."

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Hope you liked!

**Feel free to review! :) It makes me happy panda**


	6. Into The Night

**A/N**: OOOOOOMG! The past two weeks of my life have just been...*shoots self*...beyond stressful. My sorority had work week and rush (lol yes I'm a sorority girl don't hate) and it just took up all of my time and energy. So here is a HUGE thank you to my super awesome amazing beta of amazingness **AElfric's Cat**! Cuz she totally rocked and was so gracious and really helped me look at this chapter in a new light :) it's a pretty important one so I really hoped it turned out ok...it was a bit hard to write. Enjoy!

**Warning: **Disturbing imagery and illusions to rape

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_And you see the things they never see_

_All you wanted – I could be_

_Now you know me and I'm not afraid_

_And I want to tell you who I am_

_Can you help me be a man?_

_They can't break me_

_As long as I know who I am._

-John Rzeznik

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

The world seemed dusted with darkness. Harry gazed around absently, straining his eyes to focus in the dimmed room. The quiet was harsh and complete, like the room was made to keep silence—he couldn't even hear himself breathe. Then an angry hiss broke through the stillness, and Harry froze.

Somewhere across the room a door creaked opened, allowing a sharp stream light to flood into the hall. Five figures strode in, all of which Harry immediately recognized. The first was Voldemort, and Harry felt his stomach give a violent jerk at the sight of the snake-like man. The Dark Lord was trailed by Severus Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and finally Draco Malfoy. Harry stared at the five, thankful that he remained unseen, protected by dark shadows. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that this wasn't possible—three of the five were now dead, and Draco barely looked fifteen—but his heart didn't seem to care. It pounded against his ribcage like a drum.

The young Slytherin was standing close to his father, his eyes darting around nervously, looking anywhere but at Voldemort. He would occasionally bring his hand up to rub his neck—his long fingers arching against his hairline and trailing softly down into the supple curve of his throat—and as Harry's eyes adjusted he noticed that a strange mark stained Draco's pearly skin.

"I still do not understand, Lucius," Voldemort hissed fiercely, "why the key to that infernal department in the Ministry keeps evading you."

Lucius bowed his head. "I am sorry, my Lord, but they've been keeping the Department of Mysteries under careful observation as of late. And the Potter child is not being helpful with his quick mouth. I will have access to the key before long."

Voldemort's brow creased, and his eyes momentarily flashed an unspoken threat. "See to it that you do. Bellatrix," he turned towards the woman, whose dark eyes brightened at her master's address. "I'm assuming you are now securing my hold over the Dementors?"

Bellatrix's pale face flushed with passion. "Yes, my Lord! Two Dementors are traveling to Little Whinging as we speak."

"Brilliant. And, Severus?" Voldemort's red eyes narrowed on Snape.

"Harry Potter is with his relatives still. Dumbledore is keeping him there until the fall term starts."

Voldemort nodded, his thin lips curling into what might have once been considered a smile. "Good. Good." His eyes then fell on Draco, and Harry found he didn't like the sudden hungry gleam that flickered in those crimson depths. "Your son is very beautiful, Lucius," Voldemort ran a long clawed finger down the young boy's cheek. Harry could almost feel Draco's shiver of repulsion.

"He is everything you wanted him to be, my Lord. He will be ready to join your ranks soon."

Voldemort clucked his tongue, running his finger under Draco's sharp chin and raising it upwards. "And it seems that McNair had a bit too much fun with him last night." Harry dared to moved closer, and he could see that the strange mark on Draco's neck was, in fact, a bite mark. Tremors racked Harry's body, and a deep rage coiled in the pit of his stomach.

"Look up at me, boy." Voldemort ordered, and Draco hesitantly obeyed. They studied each other for a long moment that seemed suspended in time. "I've never seen such eyes." Voldemort's red gaze dimmed ever so slightly. "For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past, or like a watch in the night. You sweep them away; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed by the dawn; in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers. Your wrath is as great as the fear that is due you."

"My Lord?" Snape questioned.

"It's from the bible. Haven't you read it? Muggles write such revolting fiction."

Lucius, Snape and Bellatrix all remained silent.

"Severus," Voldemort whirled on the man, his eyes once again taking their venomous clarity. "I believe there is a certain potion in my cellar that I have been saving for a special occasion. You know of the one I speak?"

Snape's beady eyes flickered over Draco for but a second before returning to his master. "Yes, my Lord."

"I believe I still have a few doses left. Ready it for me."

The greasy-haired man hesitated. "But, my Lord, wouldn't you rather save it for a more…pertinent occasion? That potion is a rare one—it would take another lifetime to duplicate."

"Ready it, Severus," the Dark Lord replied curtly. "Lucius! See to it that your son is seen to my private chamber at ten this evening. Understood?"

Draco paled and looked up at his father, not daring to speak in his own defense. But Lucius did not look down at his son. "As you wish, my Lord."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Harry's eyes flew open to the sound of an anguished cry, and for once the cry had not come from his own throat. He spun wildly, grabbing for his glasses and shoving them onto his face. His eyes fell on Malfoy, who was entangled in his sheets and thrashing about violently.

Harry threw himself off Ron's bed and ran over to him. The blonde's face was crumpled with fear and revulsion, and every movement seemed stiff and jolted, like he was struggling against something holding him tight. His skin was covered with a sticky film of sweat, and his normally immaculate hair was plastered feverishly to his forehead.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered fervently. He reached out to take the boy by the shoulders—to shake him back to consciousness—but the moment his hand touched the thin fabric of Malfoy's shirt, Harry felt something akin to a hook grip him in the chest and jerk him forward into darkness.

Harry slowly opened his eyes. He stood in an elaborately decorated bedchamber, accented with deep greens and pungent blacks. A boy slightly older than himself stood in front of him; a boy he instantly knew as Voldemort's younger self. Tom Riddle. Harry's mind reeled. Where was this? _When_ was this? He attempted to open his mouth to speak, only to find that he had no control over his limbs. He felt strangely weighted, as if somebody had changed the proportions of his body.

"Draco," Tom purred at Harry, stepping forward to close the gap between them. "I can smell the fear coursing through your veins." Harry choked. Was he in Malfoy's body? Was he seeing what Malfoy saw?

"Forgive me, my Lord." Harry felt his mouth move without command, and Draco's shaken voice spill over his lips.

Tom peered down at him, lifting his hands to the blonde's neck. His fingers were cold, and his nails bit into Harry's skin like shards of ice. "Do not apologize, my pet. Fear is one of the highest forms of respect." Tom gazed down at him with deep eyes that held no contrast between the pupil and the iris. Everything about him was sharp, dynamic, and Harry could not deny the shiver that was enticed by that piercing stare. "You do wish to please your master, don't you?"

Harry felt himself nod, feeling choked. There was something there in Tom's eyes; something dark he couldn't quite escape. "Yes, my Lord."

"Then please me."

Then Tom dipped forward, capturing Draco's mouth in a brutal kiss. His tongue tore through Draco's mouth, and his teeth ripped through Draco's lips. He tasted of smoke, blood, and an oldness that did not match the youth of his body. Harry could feel Draco's nausea, his disgust, his fear that he struggled desperately to control. And then he felt Draco respond, fiercely battling the other boy with a feigned need. He responded because it was expected…because he knew he would be killed if he didn't.

Tom's hands traveled everywhere, tearing at clothing and discarding it on the floor. There was no gentleness in Tom's touch; every movement was exacted with a hard purpose. Fingers wrapped around Draco's belt, making quick work of the fine leather, and a cold sharp hand thrust itself into the blonde's trousers. Draco gasped, breaking their heated kiss and choking back the bile that had found its way up his throat.

Tom shoved the other boy back into a wall Harry hadn't realized was there. Draco's head cracked painfully back against the marble, and Harry felt his consciousness jerk back into reality. He shook his head, clearing his vision. He felt himself tremble, though he could not tell whether the reaction came from his own body, or if it was still an extension of Malfoy's.

The blonde jerked beneath him, a low tortured whimper escaping his throat. Harry shook the other boy furiously. "Malfoy! Malfoy wake up! Malfoy!" he yelled in half-hysteria.

Malfoy's eyes flew open and in a heated blur he grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and flipped the dark haired boy underneath him.

"Malfoy it's me!" Harry bellowed as the blonde fisted the collar of his shirt.

But it was too late. Malfoy descended upon him, crashing their lips together, and pushing him further down, clinging to him with an almost painful fervency. Harry's heart flew into his throat and he jolted beneath the blonde, attempting to buck him off. Then Malfoy let out a hot shuddering breath and nipped at his bottom lip, and Harry couldn't help but gasp at the shock that rocketed through him. And for the briefest of moments he stilled and he allowed himself to taste the warm smooth lips that covered his own. He had never tasted anything quite like it before—it was like tasting fire and ice at the same time.

Then with another jerk, Harry managed to get a grip on Malfoy's shoulders. He shoved up, hard.

"Malfoy, stop!"

Malfoy's eyes widened, and his body went rigid. "Potter?" his voice wavered. In a terrifyingly swift movement, the blonde's hands grabbed Harry's wrists and pinned them to the bed, his eyes flashing wildly.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy," Harry whispered, somehow unable to breathe and not knowing why, "tell me he didn't…tell me what I saw wasn't real."

Malfoy's breath was ragged and labored and Harry saw a shadowed horror darken his face.

"Malfoy," Harry felt sick, more revolted than he had ever felt in his life, "tell me that dream wasn't real."

The Slytherin's simply stared down at him, grey eyes cold as ice. "How do you know about my dream?"

"I..I don't know. I saw it somehow…and Voldemort, he—"

"He said I was beautiful." And Harry saw it then—that same darkness he had seen in Tom's eyes echoed across the steel facade of Malfoy's gaze. But it was different somehow too, like it had been mirrored, and the darkness wasn't coming from within but instead hanging just over the surface.

Malfoy shifted, and Harry suddenly felt the blonde's arousal press against his thigh. A low growl rumbled in his throat and he dug his hands deeper into Harry's wrists. "How did you see?"

Harry panicked. "I didn't mean to!"

"That's bollocks, Potter! Tell me how!"

"I don't know! I just touched you and—I just saw it somehow!"

Malfoy's expression flashed into a snarl and all of a sudden Harry was thrown off the bed and to the floor, toppling in a tangle of limbs. His world spun as the Slytherin's fist connected with his jaw. Yet it wasn't nearly the hardest Malfoy had ever hit him—he could tell the blonde had held back. Harry scrambled, attempting to grab Malfoy's flying arms. A sound kick to the blonde's stomach left him gasping and, realizing his chance, Harry grabbed the other boy and rolled, pinning him neatly to the hard floor.

"Stop it, Malfoy! Stop!" Harry thundered, silently thanking Merlin that he had maintained his habit of keeping silencing charms on his room while he slept. "I don't know how I saw! I didn't mean to see anything!"

Malfoy didn't even bother to struggle, but Harry could tell he was beyond livid. His neck was tense from his tightly clenched jaw, and his nose and cheeks were inflamed with a heady red. He stared up at Harry with a familiar untamed fury, and yet, there was pain there too, chained and carefully masked by the anger, but Harry saw it nevertheless.

"So I suppose you're just going to have a good laugh about it, aren't you."

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Bet you think I got what was coming to me." His voice was a touch too sardonic.

"Malfoy…I would never—"

"I don't want to hear it!" Malfoy's breath hitched, and there was something cracked just beneath the surface of his steel gaze.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered ardently. "Did Voldemort…did he…" his words were lost.

The Slytherin looked up at him through narrowed pained eyes. "Did he what, Potter? Fuck me? Is that what you want to say?"

Harry swallowed against the dry lump in his throat.

"Come on. Ask."

"Did he?" He didn't want to say it. He couldn't even think about it.

"Did he _what_?" Malfoy baited, his grey eyes sharp. "I want to hear you say it."

Why? Why did he want to hear it? Harry pressed his eyes shut, telling himself that he didn't really want to know…because he didn't know what it would mean. But it was too late now. He needed to hear the answer, even though, deep down he already knew what that answer would be.

"Did he…fuck you?" An undeniable shudder took hold of Harry's body, but he didn't look away. Malfoy's gaze held him, hard and unforgiving.

The blonde almost smiled, like he had won some small victory he had wanted. "Yes."

Harry's chest felt heavy, as if it were collapsing in on his lungs. "And was that…the only time?"

They sat in suspended silence, and something in the blonde's expression changed ever so slightly. "No."

A hard stone dropped in Harry's stomach.

"Did he hurt you?"

Malfoy's hands curled into Harry's wrists, his nails scratching at the flesh beneath. "What is this, a therapy session? Let me up."

The Gryffindor reluctantly eased his grip and allowed Malfoy to slide out from under him. Their gazes broke, and for some reason that was when everything crashed in. Something akin to trepidation flew through his veins, and he felt suddenly hot and feverish. Malfoy had just _kissed_ him. Yet strangely, the idea hardly fazed him. What had him riled was the thought of why. Of course he had known Voldemort was a monster. Of course he had known Voldemort tortured innocents for his own sick entertainment. But torture his own followers—the people who made him what he was? It was beyond Harry's conception. Yet here he was, facing a boy he thought he'd known inside and out, only to find that he'd never really known anything at all.

"Let me help."

Malfoy threw him a sidelong incredulous look as he brushed the nonexistent dust from his sleeves. He curled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. "Help what?"

Harry licked his lips, tasting the strange residue that still clung there. "You shouldn't keep something like that bottled up inside. Why didn't you tell anyone about it before?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's _my_ business," Malfoy returned, his voice guarded. "And what could've been done about it anyway? I'll tell you. Nothing. You think one of them would've just told him to stop? Tried to reason with him? You don't reason with the Dark Lord, Potter."

"Maybe no one did. But if you had told your parents they—"

Harry was cut off by a sharp bark of laughter, "My parents? Please. They already knew. My father would've done anything to please him, and my mother—she might've tried, but I never would have let her get killed over something so menial."

"Menial?" Harry moved forward, balancing himself on his knees and the tips of his fingers. "Malfoy, something like that it's—it's not a small thing."

Malfoy sneered. "What would you know about it?"

"Just because I haven't experienced it doesn't mean I can't understand—"

"Yes it does," the Slytherin replied tersely. Then something strange happened; the blonde's lips quirked and his expression changed once more, only this time Harry couldn't quite read it. "I'll even bet you're still a virgin."

Harry retracted slightly, feeling his cheeks heat at the unexpected rebuttal.

Malfoy's eyes sparked as he arched a pale brow. "Ah, so I was right about that, was I?"

"Er," Harry's tongue went suddenly dry as Malfoy leaned in towards him.

"And what about kissing a boy?" The blonde's voice went suddenly quiet and deep. "Have you ever done that before? Or did I just steal your first?"

"Malfoy, stop changing the subject. I—"

The Slytherin leaned in even closer so their faces were a mere breath apart. Harry could feel his heart pounding like a drum in his chest, and wondered if it would wake the entire house it was so loud. And then their lips brushed, ever so slightly, but electricity rang through Harry's body like a curse.

"Malfoy," Harry breathed his name softly, unmoving. "What're you doing?"

He could almost feel the blonde smile against him. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

For a moment Harry couldn't speak—he could scarcely breathe. He didn't know what was happening, or why his mind had suddenly fogged, or why his hands had begun to shake.

"Yes, I think so."

With a strange sort of smile, Malfoy settled back and hummed thoughtfully.

They sat that way for a long while; silent in the dark. Harry just stared at the floor, waiting for his heart to still, and desperately trying not to think about…anything. For some reason he was scared of what the thoughts would bring. He kept his questions far from the dark recesses of his mind—he couldn't let them get in too deep…because, in reality, he knew the answers would change everything.

"Hey, Malfoy?"

"Yeah?"

Harry rocked in nervousness. "You said…that wasn't the only time right?"

Grey eyes sharpened. "Yeah, so?"

"And he wasn't the only one?"

Malfoy's face was a mask, and his gaze was steady on Harry's. His eyes pressed him, daring him to back down. Harry, for one, never backed down from anything. "What does it matter, Potter? It's all over now."

"But," Harry faltered, "I mean…don't you ever at least want to talk about it?"

Malfoy's laugh was tight and harsh. "About what? You expect me to go crying to everybody about my life? Life's hell, Potter, and I've learned to accept it. I don't need anyone's pity. Certainly not yours, so if that's what this is—"

"No," Harry cut him off. "I don't believe in pity either, that's not what I meant. I just thought…you know…that you wouldn't feel so alone if you confided in somebody."

"What makes you think I feel alone?"

Harry was abashed. He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. They stared at each other for a long awkward moment. There was so much to say; too much to say. "Listen, Malfoy," he began carefully, "about tonight…I'm sorry I saw…I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it, Potter. Luckily for you, we shared classes together and I'm fully aware of just how incompetent you are. Dream magic is way out of your league." A small smirk splayed itself across Malfoy's face.

"Incompetent?" Harry pursed his lips. "My marks were just fine."

"Compared to whose? The Weasel's?"

Harry was about to say yes, but then thought better of it. Malfoy's mask had slipped back into place and he hadn't even realized it. But maybe he needed that mask. Maybe the blonde was right…and there really wasn't anything that could be done.

"Well I suppose it's not entirely your fault. I'd blame Gryffindor if I were you—which, thank Merlin, I'm not."

Harry stiffened. "And what exactly does Gryffindor have to do with this?"

Malfoy seemed to brighten at the opportunity to indulge his favorite past time: insulting. "Well, what with you lot running head first into trouble all the time, it would stand to reason that you would hit your heads once or twice, and even the thickest skulls can't always prevent brain damage. I mean really, do you guys ever actually plan anything out? And counting to three does not count as a plan."

Harry faked an affronted look. "Counting to three is too a plan. An extremely daring and intelligent plan."

"No its not. It's Sesame Street."

"How do you know about Sesame Street?"

Malfoy smiled, and Harry felt his heart flutter involuntarily. It was a real smile, unveiled by its usual sarcasm and one that seldom graced the Slytherin's face. "I would attempt to explain the vastness of my intelligence to you, if I wasn't afraid it would overwhelm that pretty little head of yours."

"You think I'm pretty?" Harry mocked.

Malfoy chuckled. "Sod off, Potter."

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

******If you review...I'll give you a GIIIIIANT cookie! :D**


	7. The Morning After

**A/N**: So I know it's been a while :( work and school, school and work...thus is my life. This chapter may be a bit rough around the edges, and it really probably did need a second over by my WONDERFUL BETA...but I knew that if I didn't post it now it wouldn't go up for another 2 weeks XD. So I hope everyone enjoys!

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_They can't tell me who to be_

_'Cause I'm not what they see_

_Yeah, the world is still sleepin' while I keep on dreaming for me_

_And their words are just whispers and lies that I'll never believe_

_And I want a moment to be real_

_Want to touch things I don't feel_

_Wanna hold on, and feel I belong._

_And how can they say I never change?_

_They're the ones that stay the same_

_I'm the one now, and I'm still here_

-John Rzeznik

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning feeling oddly yet pleasantly warm. He shuffled, trying to lull himself back to sleep when he noticed that the warmth was radiating out of whatever he clutched in his arms. His fingers traced sleepily over the object, recognizing the smooth texture as skin.

Harry's eyes jolted open. He inhaled sharply, and regretted it immediately. The smell of mint and spice enveloped him, threatening to render his mind incapable of all sensible thought. Shakily, he rose into a sitting position, eyes captured by the sleeping blonde that lay next to him, and his heart vibrating like the fervent pattering of wings. The dream…he remembered…and after, how Malfoy had pressed their lips together so urgently and—Harry shook his head, horrified.

When had they fallen asleep last night? And—by Merlin—what was he doing in bed with Malfoy?

He racked his brain, trying to remember. They had been talking, with about as much normalcy as they'd ever had. Of course for Malfoy, it was impossible to get through even five minutes of conversation without throwing in a sneer and a demeaning comment or two, but Harry actually hadn't minded much. At least neither of them had felt the need to draw their wand. Somewhere along the way they had laid down to get more comfortable, and the next thing Harry knew—

With a content sigh, the blonde curled in closer, his arm brushing across the length of Harry's thigh as he brought it up to curl under his head. Stifling the sudden shock that jetted down his spine, Harry inched backwards, eyes wide and breath short.

Then something caught his stare.

The injuries that peeked out from beneath Malfoy's rucked up shirt were far worse than Harry had realized. The Slytherin's skin looked tethered and raw, and Harry detected several hints of broken bones. Harry bit his lip, daring to lean back in and pointedly ignoring the strange skip in his stomach. How Malfoy even managed to keep himself upright was an amazing feat. But then again, if he had been living his entire life this way then he must be used to it. Even still, it didn't make any sense. Someone at Hogwarts must have known…why didn't they tell Dumbledore? Why did they keep it hidden?

Harry grumbled a few indistinct curses, damning the Slytherins and their senseless secrets.

"You know," the blonde whispered groggily, "I don't really like it when people stare at me. Especially when I'm trying to sleep."

Harry felt a blush creep onto his face, and he silently thanked whatever impulse had made Malfoy keep his eyes closed. "Who said I was staring?" he winced as he heard his voice crack.

Malfoy raised a pale brow, still refusing to open his eyes. "I did. Just now. Weren't you listening?"

Harry smiled blandly. "I think I've just learned to tune you out over the years."

"How cruel, Potter." Malfoy pouted, turning on his side and burying his face further into the down pillow.

Nervous amusement bubbled up in Harry's chest. "What? You think that the entire world should revolve around you and everything you say?"

"The world would be a much better place if it did," the blonde totted. "And a lot more fun too."

"If you consider mandatory manicures a form of fun." Harry laughed.

The other boy opened an eye, giving Harry a sidelong glare. "Being a clean, hygienic individual isn't so bad. You should try it sometime."

The Gryffindor sent the other boy a crooked smile. "All right I will, right after you try out not being a snotty prat."

A small smirk curled onto the blonde's lips, and he finally forced both his eyes open. They were a dazzling silver in the morning light—like shards of glass glittering in the sun—and they held him there, tight and unrelenting. Suddenly Harry's world went still, frozen in the bright midmorning glow. The air around them seemed to take on a fragile tension, filled, with their memories of the previous night. He looked at Malfoy, trying to see through that steeled gaze and wondering what exactly went on behind that carefully constructed mask. Harry wondered what the blonde was thinking right now, and he wondered if Malfoy was curious about what he thought too. Something passed between them then, though Harry didn't quite know what it was.

The two regarded each other with a peculiar sort of interest that seemed lost in a suspended moment. "You know, Potter, about last night—"

"It's alright!" Harry said hurriedly. Warmth rose in his cheeks and suddenly his body was prickling all over with a baited heat. He swallowed thickly and held Malfoy's gaze as best he could.

Malfoy raised a pale brow. "It's alright, is it?"

Harry bit his lip and nodded apprehensively. "Yeah, I mean, we both know it didn't mean anything. I know you were—erm—still caught up in that dream."

A haunted dread swept across the blonde's face like a shadow. "So I did kiss you then. I'd rather hoped the whole ordeal had been a dream."

"Well, um," his hands were now fisted into the sheets, "…we can just…forget it ever happened." Harry ignored the pang that rippled through his chest.

"I suppose we could." Malfoy raised a hand to sweep away the hair that fringed across his brow. He wasn't looking at Harry anymore, but up at the ceiling with a bland sort of forlornness.

The morning light was shining brightly through the eastern window, casting the room in a pure white luminance. Malfoy's hair caught the sun, glistening like strands of woven gold, and his skin looked soft and smooth as silk. Harry knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. There was something so lost about him.

"You don't have to feel bad about it," Harry ventured softly.

Malfoy turned back towards him, searching for something Harry wished he had the answer too. "I don't. Do you?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"Well, then we'll just forget about it like you said. It meant nothing."

"It meant nothing," Harry repeated, barely aware of his tongue spilling over the words.

There was a sudden sharp rapping at the door. It was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. Harry's eyes bulged and he practically threw himself off of the bed. The Gryffindor landed hard on the floor, eliciting an amused chuckle from the other boy. Moments later, Ron entered the room, looking rather pale.

The redhead raised a questioning brow at the scene before him. Harry vainly tried to force the flush from his face while Malfoy's laughter became more pronounced. "Um," Ron began shiftily, "breakfast is ready."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said rigidly, lifting himself off the ground.

Ron replied with a curt nod. "Oh and, Malfoy?" The Slytherin managed to subdue his laughter and push himself up. "I think we would all feel better if you left as soon as possible."

Malfoy's lips shifted down into a snarl. "Hospitable as always I see."

Ron started forward. "Look here, Malfoy—"

Seeing the confrontation coming, Harry jumped in his path. "Ron please, don't start—"

"No, Potter!" Malfoy's voice was harsh. The blonde raised himself further, his chin jutting out in its usual arrogant fashion. "Let Weasel say what he wants." His eyes met Ron's with a challenging glare.

Harry glanced back at Malfoy anxiously, silently entreating him to back down yet knowing that he wouldn't.

Malfoy didn't disappoint him.

Ron rose to meet the challenge with a fiery passion. "You think you can just come here, barge into my house after what your father did to my sister? To _my_ father? Just because you have this fucking truce with Harry, or whatever the hell you want to call it, it doesn't change the fact that you're not welcome here!" Harry watched in silent amazement as the color of Ron's face slowly blended with the color of his hair, while Malfoy sat, as cold and silent as stone.

"You think we don't know you're up to something?" Ron was growing vehement now. "You're a fucking evil bastard, Malfoy, and nothing you do or say can ever change that, so—"

"Ron," Harry started softly.

"—stay the fuck away from my family—"

"Ron, please, enough."

"—and stay the fuck away from Harry, or by Merlin I swear—"

"Ron!"

"You'll beg me to kill you before I'm done!" With that last angry flare Ron turned and charged out of the room, leaving Harry and Malfoy in a deafening silence.

Harry could feel himself trembling lightly as he turned towards the other boy. There was something too unemotional in the way the blonde sat, some detachment that Harry couldn't quite fathom. He was only the shell of himself now, all function and logic.

"Malfoy?" Harry started towards him, but stopped when their eyes met.

There was a blank and cold fury welling in those grey depths. "He's right you know."

Harry's chest tightened. "No, Malfoy, no he just—"

Malfoy held up a stiff hand, his eyes dropping to the floor. His lips then curled in a baleful smile that sent unpleasant chills down Harry's spine. "I suppose some things can't be undone after all." The sheets fell and rippled around him as he rose to his feet.

"Malfoy, if you just give him time...he doesn't know what you've been through…if you would just wait—"

"Wait?" Malfoy's tone was biting. "I don't even know why I came here in the first place."

Harry felt stung. "What?"

Malfoy didn't seem to hear him. "Honestly. Wasting my breath on mudbloods and weasels."

"Malfoy—"

"And you," Malfoy's eyes seemed to sharpen. "You _would_ be here with them. What's wrong? Afraid to live on your own? I don't blame you—"

Harry knew that Malfoy was trying to distract him—trying to turn everything around so that Harry wouldn't be able to see the confusion in his eyes anymore. "Shut up—"

"They don't need you anymore anyway. They probably won't even notice when you leave. I bet—"

Harry flung himself at the other boy, who went down rather easily. Harry pinned Malfoy firmly beneath him, "I know what you're trying to do, Malfoy, and it won't work!" Harry spat, his temper flaring like a wild flame. "You're the one who instigated this little truce and I'm not going to let you back out of it that easily!"

"Potter! Get the hell off of me!"

"No!" Harry tightened his hold, barely realizing that his grip was becoming painfully tight. "You're not running away from this! I'm not going to let you."

Malfoy's pale eyes glared up at him furiously. "You can't make me do anything, Potter."

"Yes I can." The dark haired boy searched the pale face below him, tracing the sharp, delicate features. And as he stared down into those grey depths, he saw something: a shining mixture—hatred was there of course, but something else had crept in too; a sort of deranged curiosity as to why, after all this time, he would choose to be here, with Harry. Frankly, Harry wondered the same thing.

Then, a wild idea came upon him. "Come and fly with me."

The Slytherin blanched. "What? Potter, are you off your rocker? What—"

"Once a week, I want you to come and fly with me. We can get to know each other, and I can show Ron that you're not trying decapitate me, or whatever it is he thinks you're going to do."

"Oh yes, because conversation is so easy when you're flying."

Harry grimaced at Malfoy's obstinacy. "Then we'll go someplace. I'll choose one week and then you can choose the next. How does that sound?"

"Like a load of bollocks!" Malfoy's once pale face was now filled with color, though he kept his features carefully void of emotion.

Harry sighed solemnly, his mind rolling over the last twenty-four hours. "You said that you came here because you thought I would be different right? Because I wouldn't judge you based on what happened during the war?" Malfoy's only answer was a sharp glare. "Well, I'm trying, Malfoy, but I can't do it all on my own. You have to be willing to meet me halfway."

The blonde arched beneath him with a resentful hiss, and Harry became instantly and intensely aware of the warmth of the blonde's body underneath his. "Fine," came Malfoy's sharp reply. "Saturday mornings, 4AM."

"Four in the morning! Malfoy—"

"Potter, do you want to do this or not?"

Harry's tongue was quelled. "Yes."

"Okay well those are my terms. Now will you get off me?"

Harry released him, rolling off the slighter boy and onto the ground. "Where do we meet?" he asked, watching intently as Malfoy lifted himself with impeccable grace off the ground.

The Slytherin made his way over the bed rail on which he had laid out his robes. He began to dress himself slowly, as if it were some sort of ritual. "We can meet just outside of Diagon Alley. There's a nice park there; small, inconspicuous, yet easy to find. And I guess I'll be providing the brooms seeing as you apparently no longer have one."

Harry merely nodded, marveled and somewhat befuddled by the slow transformation Malfoy made. He watched as the blonde slowly but surely became the image of his cold aristocratic self. "So, I'll see you Saturday then, Potter. Now if you'll excuse me," he said in his usual sneering tone, "I believe I was asked, ever so delicately I might add, to get the fuck out." He swept briskly out through the door, his robes giving a loud snap as he rounded the corner, and was gone.

Harry sat unmoving, feeling the abrupt emptiness of the room wash over him. He perked slightly as he heard footsteps bounding down the stairs. A bed rumpled Ginny stopped in his doorway and offered him a small and almost sincere smile. "Has Draco gone already?"

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. It had been weeks since Ginny's face had seen any hint of expression, and seemingly longer since she had spoken. "I…um…yeah he just left."

She merely nodded and continued her trek down the stairs, leaving an appalled Harry staring after her.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

So that was the epic morning after :) Where will there flying adventures lead to I wonder? Nothing platonic I bet ;) And ya in case anyone hasn't noticed, "I'm Still Here" by John Rzeznik is sort of the theme song for a lot of this fic-if you haven't heard it, go listen!

**I love reviews of every color, race, creed, and sexual orientation :D lol hope everyone enjoyed!**


	8. Memories of Houses

**A/N**: This chapter actually took a lot of work for some reason...but thanks to **AElfric's Cat **it somehow finally came to completion. I hope I made her suggestions work *hopeful face!* Anyway! For any of y'all who've been wondering where Harry is going to take Draco on their first outing...the wait is up!

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_It's too late baby there's no turning around_

_I got my hands in my pockets and my head in the clouds_

_This is how I do, when I think about you_

_I never thought you could break me apart_

_I keep a sinister smile and a hold on my heart_

_You want to get inside_

_Then you can get in line_

_But not this time_

_'Cause you caught me off guard_

_Now I'm running and screaming_

-Boys Like Girls

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

The week passed by with a slug-like slowness. Harry and Ron had mutually apologized to each other shortly after Malfoy took his leave, and for a while things settled into a pleasant sort of routine. They would wake up every morning, eat their breakfast, talk and play games, and every evening they would sit contently next to the fire, enjoying the peaceful lazy heat of summer. However, that all changed when Harry announced to Ron that he would be meeting the Slytherin once a week. Harry watched helplessly as his friend's face became distorted with livid fury.

"Harry, you can't be serious!" the redhead exclaimed. "We just got rid of the sorry bastard! It's enough that mum can't stop going on about him!"

Harry bit his lip, trying to make his words as delicate as possible, "Look, I'm not saying that Malfoy isn't the sorry a git we all thought he was…I just…feel like I have to do this. He's been through a lot, Ron, a lot more than I had ever imagined."

"Well he deserved it didn't he!"

"No one deserves that!" Harry took a threatening step forward. "No matter who they are! You don't even know what happened!"

"Then _tell _me!" Ron threw his hands up in frustration, his blue eyes alight like burning sapphires. "Something happened when he was here, and now you're defending Malfoy like he wasn't the one who did all those horrible things back at Hogwarts! Tell me! Tell me what happened! What in the world could he have possibly said to change seven years of hatred?"

Harry felt a wave of red crest upon his cheeks as he remembered the feeling of Malfoy's mouth on his—the strange litheness of the body beneath his own. But Ron wouldn't understand the dream. He wouldn't understand the things he had felt when he was seeing through Malfoy's eyes. "Nothing happened," he forced the lie onto his tongue.

Ron's expression darkened. "Like fuck nothing happened!" he seethed.

Harry's face dropped, suddenly realizing that their fragile patch-up was falling away right beneath him. "He slashed through his mark, Ron!"

"That doesn't change anything, Harry!" the other boy roared. "Get out of my room now!"

"Ron, look—"

"NOW!"

With wide eyes and a racing heart, Harry fled to the hallway. He stormed down the stairs and into his room, slamming the door shut behind him and throwing himself onto a bed, fuming. As he glared up at the ceiling the air around him began to crackle and hiss with live magic. He didn't know exactly why he was mad, but even still the emotion held him tight. Why couldn't Ron just trust him?

That had been Wednesday afternoon, and it was now Friday night. Harry and Ron had not spoken since, but surprisingly enough Harry found that he didn't much care. He had been much too preoccupied with figuring out a destination for his first trip with Malfoy. Even now, Harry now sat alone in his bedroom (Ron had decided to stay in George's room for obvious reasons) pondering and restless.

He had bid the Weasley family and Hermione good night when it was only eight in the evening, hoping that sleep would help the time pass by more quickly. He had been wrong. He had lain in the bed for hours, tossing and turning and fruitlessly willing himself to sleep.

It was now half past two and Harry was fully ready and dressed, his duvet pulled up around his knees as he leaned against the railing of his bed. He closed his eyes restlessly, not wanting to face the disappointment of checking his watch and seeing that only a minute had passed.

His stomach was a tangled nervous knot and he was quite sure that his body would not be able to handle the wait. But Harry was even more frustrated about the fact that he was _undeniably_ frustrated. Trust Malfoy to make him a nervous wreck. Unable to take it anymore, Harry threw himself from his bed, grabbed his wand and glasses and pulled open the door, wincing as the old hinges squealed. He cast a quick silencing charm and slipped quietly down the stairs. If he was going to be awake all night he might as well be awake in Diagon Alley.

Luckily for him the Weasleys kept a port key to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in the back yard that was charmed to transport every hour. Pulse flying, he tiptoed through the kitchen and made a beeline for the back door.

The night air was cool and fresh, free of the tepid heat that rose with the sun. Everything seemed unnaturally calm in the white glow of the moon, and Harry felt indubitably out of place, like he was the only ripple on a still lake. After his first step onto the lawn, a gust of wind stroked the tall grass like a whisper, and the Burrow moaned behind him as gravity and magic fought. With a shuddering breath and a sudden fluttering of nerves, Harry hurried across the yard.

By the time he arrived in the deserted cobbled streets it was quarter past three, and Harry ambled his way towards the park the blonde had described. The small patch of greenery was in view now, and as Harry neared it he could just barely see a dark figure leaning against a lone oak tree. The glistening white blonde hair immediately gave him away.

"Malfoy?" Harry's voice was hoarse from exhaustion and sleep deprivation.

"Potter," came the soft greeting.

Harry walked up to the other boy in silence, examining his pale silhouette as it gleamed in the moonlight. The Slytherin's arms were crossed over his chest and his stature looked cold and stiff as if he were somehow in opposition with the pleasant tranquility of the garden.

Once the other boy's features were in sight he noticed that Malfoy was giving him a bitter sort of glare. "What are you so early for?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Harry smirked, coming to a stop in front of the Slytherin. He noticed that the blonde had two premium Nimbus 2007's balanced in the crook of his arm. Harry's heart raced at the thought of flying; he so longed to feel a real racing broom beneath him once more. How long had it been now since he had lost his Firebolt?

"What's with you and not answering questions?" Malfoy shoved a broom at him, which Harry received somberly. It was clear that the Slytherin was in one of his moods. "Well, are we going to go or what?"

"Hiding a third broom up your arse, are you?" Harry asked, his mouth hinting at a sneer. Malfoy's face became ice, and Harry suddenly decided that maybe joking about it was _not_ the right way to address the problem. In a stiff silence, the two mounted their brooms and kicked off into the air.

The broom flew with lightness and agility that had Harry darting at near breakneck speeds through the skies. He reveled in the way the wind made his face sting with cold, and the way his stomach would suddenly flutter as he dipped through the starry sky. Harry slicked his body flush against the handle and willed himself faster, unable to keep the curling grin from his lips. Eyes stinging and hair whipping wildly, the two boys flew through the night. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so happy.

He could feel the change in the air when they hit the coast. The wind was suddenly wet and smelled heavily of salt. With a rush of adrenaline, Harry dove downwards. The ocean came up at him like a great black mass, and the water roared and reached up towards him with white foaming hands. He could feel every muscle in his body tense, and his blood scorched through his veins like fire. There was a feeling in his stomach like he was falling so hard and so fast he could never stop, but at the same time it made his heart sing with a familiar thrill. This _thing_ beneath him was so much greater than he was, and yet, he was not afraid of it. Water splashed against his face and neck as he undulated with the sea, and he dared each towering wave to take him if it could.

Malfoy's voice broke through the thunder of the crashing waves. "Potter!"

With an abrupt jerk Harry pulled up, seeming to come back into himself as he took once more to the sky. He blinked over at the blonde apologetically.

"What the hell was that?" Malfoy bellowed, his face contorted with an odd mixture of anger and fear.

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly. And he didn't…something had just…come over him. "Let's go back up!" The Gryffindor guided his broom up once more through the clouds, far above the sea.

After another an hour of flying Harry could feel his thighs beginning to cramp. Malfoy seemed to be in the same predicament. "Where the hell are you taking us?" he screamed over the roar of the wind.

"Just a bit farther now!" Harry yelled back, tipping his broom forward to dip below the cover of clouds. There was nothing but ocean beneath them now, alight with reds and oranges from the first glimmer of the sunrise. Then his eyes caught sight of it—the small shack on the sea. Harry soared down, making straight for the small run-down house.

"You can't be serious!" he heard Malfoy yell from behind, the dismay obvious in his voice.

Harry landed on the jagged rocky surface that was the island, grinning broadly at the horrid looking excuse for a house. The blonde landed beside him wearing a disdainful frown. "You can't be serious," he repeated.

"Hey!" Harry gave Malfoy a sidelong glare. "This happens to be a very important place to me!"

"Potter! There's no room for something important to happen in this," he struggled for a word, "box!"

Harry laughed and pulled at the rusty knob on the front door. It swung open easily, though the hinges screamed in strain. "It's bigger than it looks. I'll have you know that this is where I first met Hagrid." Harry gazed around the room in near admiration. It was still as dreadful as he remembered; rotting wood held together by bits of crumbling stone, and furniture so caked with mold and rotted from the wet sea that it all seemed to slump pathetically where it stood.

Malfoy was close at Harry's heels, looking both frightened and aghast at the state of the room he was entering. "You mean to tell me that Hagrid actually fit in here?"

Harry nodded. "Along with a rather fetching birthday cake."

"You don't say," Malfoy jeered, raising a pale mocking brow.

Harry couldn't help but smirk as he gazed around the room, allowing the events of that wonderful night flood back into him. This was where it had all started; this is where he found out who he really was. It was strange somehow, remembering that he had once lived in a world without magic. That part of his life seemed so distant now. Magic was simply a part of who he was.

"So, what are we _really_ here for? Not just to talk about a cake I hope."

"No, not just to talk about a cake. But if it's any consolation, the cake was really good."

"Great," the Slytherin drawled, "Thanks for that wonderful bit of information, Potter. I feel so much better now that I know you enjoyed your cake. Now, will you please get a fire going in this place! It's absolutely dank!"

"Why don't you start one yourself?"

The blonde glowered at him. "Because," his tone was biting, "_somebody_ stole my wand and I haven't found a proper replacement yet."

Harry looked abashed, and he offered Malfoy a small and hopefully apologetic smile. "Right, sorry." He lit a fire in the small fireplace, making sure it was extra hot so as to ensure it would not go out too quickly under the damp dripping stone. Sighing, he made himself comfortable on the floor, patting the space beside him and looking up expectantly at the Slytherin.

Malfoy took one look at the rotting wooden floor and scowled. "I think I prefer standing."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, Malfoy, its just a floor."

"A disgusting, vile, gangrene infected floor!"

"I hardly think a floor can have gangrene."

"Then what's all that green stuff?" Malfoy pointed around the room.

Harry paused, desperately trying to keep his face straight. "It's moss I think."

Malfoy crossed his arms stubbornly. "Well, all the same I don't think I should chance it."

"I'm not going to talk to you unless you come and sit with me," Harry replied, deciding to fight stubbornness with stubbornness.

"Oh, sad day for me!" the blonde whined facetiously. "Whatever will I do without you to entertain me?" For the first time that morning Malfoy's eyes seemed to tease him.

"Well you certainly can't leave. We have an agreement remember?"

Malfoy shrugged, cocking his head in a boyish manner. "You'll have to forgive the fact that I'm not quivering in fear at the prospect of breaking an agreement with you."

Harry gave the other boy a wide impish grin. "What? You don't think I'm dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" Malfoy smirked. "I've had a Piskie inspire more terror in me than you ever have."

"I didn't know you had a phobia of Piskies." Harry found himself smiling now. "I'm sure I could've had a lot of fun with that back at school."

"My phobia is actually of morons, which probably explains why I've steered clear of you for so long."

"Malfoy will you just get your sorry arse down here?" Harry exclaimed, on the brink of laughter.

"Potter, I thought I told you—ah!" the other boy yelped as Harry jumped for him, grabbing the blonde by the sleeve of his robes and pulling him to the ground. Malfoy glowered, jerking out of Harry's grasp. "All right!" he brushed invisible dust from his robes, "You have me down. Are you happy now?"

"Quite." Harry replied, laughing triumphantly. "Now if you'll kindly shut up, I'm going to tell you the epic yet beautifully moving story behind this house."

"Please." Malfoy flourished his hand, which apparently indicated that he was ready to listen.

"Well," Harry began, warming to the subject, "it all started on the day of my eleventh birthday, or a little bit before I suppose. Back then I lived with my aunt and uncle—both muggles—and they hated the wizarding world down to their very cores. They never told me what I was. I grew up thinking I was normal, so when the letters from Hogwarts—"

"Wait wait wait wait!" the blonde interrupted, leaning in towards Harry with a look of utter horror. "You didn't know you were a wizard until you were eleven?"

Harry shook his head. "No—well I mean, certain strange things happened to me when I was young, but—"

"Like vanishing everyone's clothing at a party?"

Harry choked on his words, his eyes growing as he stared at the other boy. "Um," he stuttered, "no, not exactly."

"Oh," he nodded thoughtfully. "Continue then."

Harry shook his head, trying to shake his mind from the thought of a baby Malfoy clapping and giggling devilishly as his parent's guest's garments began to mysteriously disappear. "Right so, like I was saying…my uncle was particularly keen on keeping my background a secret, so he brought us here, thinking that Dumbledore wouldn't be able find me.

"But in the end, Dumbledore sent Hagrid after me. He actually knocked down the door by accident, which scared my aunt halfway into hysteria. But my favorite part of the evening was when he saw my cousin, Dudley, gobbling away at my birthday cake, and—you know Hagrid and his temper—he got so ticked off over the whole thing, he actually gave Dudley a pig's tail," Harry laughed, despite himself. "I found out I was a wizard that night, and Hagrid took me with him to London. And well, I met you and everyone else, learned some spells, defeated a Dark Lord, and so on." Harry's words fell off in a thoughtful moment. "You were the first person I met from Hogwarts actually."

"No wonder you sounded so stupid," Malfoy gazed up, his usual smirk laced with a certain fondness. "You didn't even know what Quidditch was."

Harry gazed at him curiously. "You remember our conversation from that day at Madame Malkin's?"

Malfoy's head whipped back towards Harry, his lips curled in the makings of a simpering laugh. "Of course I do. I always remember my conversations with blundering idiots, don't you?"

There was a pointed pause. "I remember my conversations with you."

With a sarcastic chuckle, Malfoy shifted to nudge the other boy. "Ha ha, Potter."

They were close now, their shoulders occasionally brushing each other with the barest whisper of fabric. Harry shifted nervously, suddenly and intensely aware of their close proximity, and of how Malfoy was taking particular care to keep very still. The way the blonde sat looked very awkward in fact, if not uncomfortable.

"So, it sounds like you weren't very fond of your extended family." The Slytherin interrupted Harry's thoughts and proceeded to study his perfectly manicured nails, looking his usual cool bored self.

Harry's smile flickered. "No, I wasn't." His eyes dipped down to trace the nape of Malfoy's neck, remembering the bruising he'd seen there not one week ago. He wondered if they were still there, or if, perhaps, there were more. "Malfoy," his lip rolled nervously between his teeth, "why were you so early this morning?"

"I'm always punctual," Malfoy replied without skipping a beat.

"Are you?" Harry didn't bother to fake the fact that he didn't believe him.

"Yes," Malfoy batted defensively. "And if I remember correctly you were early as well, but you don't see me giving you the third degree about it."

"I'm not the compulsive liar here."

Even in the dim light Harry could see a shade of heated pink flare into Malfoy's cheeks. "Are you quite done pestering me?"

"No. Not yet." Summoning his courage, Harry's hand whipped out and caught Malfoy by the wrist. He watched as Malfoy's eyes went wide, his eyes flashing with a startling mixture of anger and surprise. Harry knew he only had seconds—a few precious seconds to act. His other hand dropped under the Slytherin's guard and his fingers pressed into his chest with a firm jab.

Malfoy howled and propelled himself back, his wrist ripping free from Harry's grasp. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" his voice was scathing and tight.

"You're still hurt," Harry said, closing the distance between them.

Malfoy pushed himself back, but a wall met him halfway. He stared up at Harry, his arms crossed protectively over his chest and his brows knitted together in a tranquil sort of fury. "Back off, Potter."

But Harry didn't back off. He loomed over the blonde like a shadow. "Is that why you were early? Were you trying to get away from him?"

The blonde snarled. "What's it to you why I was early?"

"So I was right." Harry's eyes narrowed. "There is a reason."

Seeming to realize his mistake, Malfoy pushed back even harder, flattening his back against the wall. "I'm _not_ having this discussion with you."

"Why not?"

The blonde's grey eyes flashed like metal. "Because you already know the answers to the questions you're asking."

"You have no way of being sure of that."

"What the hell do you even care?"

Harry recoiled inwardly, stung by the words, perhaps more than he should have been. He sat back on his heels, gazing sternly at the blonde, who couldn't seem to look at him. "I do care, or at least I'm trying to, which is more than I can say for you."

Malfoy went rigid, his gaze darkening.

"What do you want me to do, Malfoy?" Harry asked tightly, attempting to contain his rising temper. "You come to me, saying that things were different, that _you_ were different."

"I never said I was different," the Slytherin seethed.

"Well you sure have been acting like it! Why else would you've come to me on the train that day?"

Malfoy's mouth flashed down into a snarl. "I came to you on the train that day because it was my duty! I owe you my life—it's wizarding conduct to do what I did!"

Harry snorted and looked away, his heart pumping hot blood through his veins. "Do you really believe that bullshit you spout, Malfoy? You're ridiculous."

The blonde flared, his steel eyes gleaming like mercury. "I'm not about to change who I am for the likes of you, Potter! I don't give a blue fuck who you thought I was or who you think I am! I am what I am, and that's all I'll ever be!"

"Then what the hell do you want from me, Malfoy? You make me think that you want to be my friend, and then you twist it into some sort of excuse? I'm not an idiot!" Harry was on his feet now, his voice strained from want to cry out. "You asked to be my friend for a reason, and—hell—I'll admit I want to give you a second chance! I'm tired of being angry all the time! I'm tired of this constant battle! But I have to know that you're not the person I thought you were! I want to know you as you are now! I want to know the person who came to me that day on the Hogwarts Express! I want to know the person who showed up this morning because he _wanted_ to show up!"

The other boy lowered his gaze broodingly. They sulked in silence, with nothing but the sound of the crashing waves and creaking wood. Slits of gold peeked through the boards of the wall, giving Malfoy hair and skin an almost unearthly glow. "Sometimes," the Slytherin whispered slowly, "I don't know myself who he is. I can't make you any promises, Potter; it's not in my nature you understand…but, I think I just…" his words trailed off.

Harry felt himself soften ever so slightly. "Just what?"

Their eyes met once more and Harry felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. For someone who was so distanced from emotion, Malfoy's eyes were unnervingly expressive. There was an intense vivacity that shone from within that made his glares slice through his prey like an icy wind, and made looks like the one he had now—a look of unprecedented desperation—catch the onlooker in an inescapable trance. Even if he had wanted to, Harry couldn't have broken the lock of their gaze.

"I think I just wanted to know what it was like…to be around people who care more about _me_ than my Gringott's account and my father's status…people who…actually want me to be around because they enjoy my company." Malfoy seemed to catch the seriousness in his tone, and he immediately trained his mouth into a smirk. "Though I don't see who wouldn't, I mean, I'm the absolute epitome of amiability and witty repartee."

"You always have to ruin everything you say with some smart ass comment don't you?" Harry snorted, falling to his knees beside the other boy. It was strange, how the two of them could be so riled one moment and then, with the sway of a word, be perfectly content again.

"Quit whining, Potter. You know you like it." Malfoy smiled mildly as Harry's soft laughter echoed with the sunrise.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Man I'm not very nice to Harry and Ron's relationship am I...but alas the plot must move on!

**All happy readers review! :D *begs* pwease?**


	9. Arguments

**A/N**: Ok...so originally this chapter was (in my mind) going to be a piece of cake...and then it became this evil monster of doom. I don't know what it was...I just couldn't bring myself to work on it! It probably needs a lot more work, but I just felt I needed to post it or it would end up driving me bonkers. I hope everything in it makes sense? If not...I swear it will later...

P.S. Thank you my wonderful beta, and please don't kill me if I massacred your amazing corrections. Lol I've been a drone because of school...*dies*

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Some secrets need to be kept._

_Some stories should never be told._

_Some reasons shouldn't be understood_

_They just might turn your blood cold._

_Who needs all the answers?_

_Who takes all the chances?_

_Who said the truth's gonna save you_

_When the truth could be dangerous?_

-Hilary Duff

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Harry returned to Burrow late that morning, all smiles and wind swept hair. He followed his stomach into the kitchen where he knew he would find some of Mrs. Weasley's scrumptious poppy seed muffins. The Weasley family, however, cornered him before he got even halfway there.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed when he entered the living room. "Goodness! Where have you been all morning?" She pulled him into one of her backbreaking hugs. "You had us worried half to death!"

"Mum," Harry heard George's laughing voice. "I've heard somewhere that people need to _breathe_."

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley immediately released Harry, leaving him gasping for a breath of free air. "Sorry, dear." She smiled apologetically.

Harry merely nodded, feeling unable to speak with so little oxygen in his lungs. He felt the weight of several pairs of eyes upon him, obviously expecting some sort of explanation. He gazed from Hermione who looked strangely placid, to Ron who looked anything but calm.

"I was out with Malfoy," Harry said simply, trying to sound plain. "Didn't Ron tell you?"

Eyes shifted to Ron who reddened. "I didn't think you would actually go," he seethed, keeping his gaze locked on Harry.

Harry shrugged, though the gesture came off less nonchalant than he had hoped.Ω "Why not? I told you I was going to."

The tension grew to the point where the air was almost tangibly stiff, and Harry noticed Mrs. Weasley and Hermione begin to shift nervously. Ron bit his cheek, giving Hermione a concealed look. "Can we talk to you privately? Upstairs?"

"Sure," Harry replied monotonously.

Together the three made their way out of the kitchen, bound by rigid silence. Hermione cast several worried glances back at him, which he pointedly pretended not to notice. He didn't understand what the big deal was. So what if he went to visit Malfoy? So what if Malfoy had hated him for the past seven years and had tried to kill him on multiple occasions? …All right so maybe Ron had a point. But even still, the redhead did have a tendency to overreact.

They entered the room that Ron shared with George, which Harry assumed was supposed to be neutral ground. They stood in a spacious triangle, though Hermione was noticeably closer to Ron, and Harry was overcome with the sudden feeling that he had been lured into a trap.

"Harry," Hermione began nervously, her eyes darting between the two boys, "Ron and I have talked it over, and well…this morning was only a one time thing, right?"

Harry crossed his arms stiffly. "It's a weekly thing actually."

"A weekly thing?" Ron snapped. "Harry I don't care what you think Malfoy has been through, his father is still a Death Eater! Don't you understand how dangerous that is?"

"His father _was_ a Death Eater!" Harry returned, bristling. "Key word being was. There can't be any Death Eaters without Voldemort. Lucius is nothing without a master to follow."

Hermione started forward. "He's still a dangerous wizard, Harry, with or without You-Know-Who. And so is Draco."

Harry scoffed. "I hardly think he's dangerous."

"Harry, you're being absurd!" Ron yelled, moving forward as well. The two were closing in on him now, but Harry held his ground. "That little bastard is obviously after something! What if it's a plan to bring You-Know-Who back?"

"Ron, you don't have to yell!" Hermione pressed her eyes shut, as if she was more focused on trying to reign in her own temper than dissipate Ron's.

But Ron was obviously beyond any hope of calmness. "You have to have considered it, Harry! Merlin, are you really this dense?"

Harry was too tired for this. He didn't want to yell, or fight, but his nerves were a-flight and his temper was already threatening to boil over. "He can't come back, Ron! We destroyed his soul remember? Even Voldemort can't come back after something like that!"

Ron looked to Hermione for help, but the brunette simply nodded that Harry was right. Ron's shoulders sagged. "But _why_, Harry? Why are you seeing him? Why won't you just tell us what happened?"

"I…" Harry trailed off, looking stern. He was torn. He wanted to tell them—anything. Everything. But the words wouldn't come. They wouldn't understand.

"See, 'Mione!" Ron sniped, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "He's not going to tell us anything!"

"I've been having dreams again if you really want to know!" Harry spat defiantly.

The two froze where they stood, and there was a moment of pure mortified silence. Hermione was the first to overcome the shock and she rushed toward him, her chocolate eyes gleaming worriedly. "Oh, Harry! Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

"Harry!" Hermione cried. "If something is going on, we should be the first to know about it!"

Harry felt admonished. "I know, it's just—"

"What were they about?" Ron asked suddenly, his voice sharp yet barely audible. "Not You-Know-Who I assume."

"No." Harry couldn't quite bring himself to meet Ron's gaze. "Not exactly."

"They were about Malfoy weren't they," Ron's voice was a dagger sharpened with accusation.

Harry's heart began to quake. "Yes."

The redhead looked about ready to explode. "God dammit, Harry! Didn't you ever think that he might be putting things into your head just like Voldemort did?"

"It occurred to me yes!" Harry defended. "But I hardly think he would _willingly_ show me the things I saw!" Memories unwillingly flashed through Harry's mind—hard hands bruising Malfoy's arms and sharp teeth claiming flesh and blood. And Voldemort's eyes, staring at him—no, _Malfoy_—with eyes dark and endless as the night. Harry took several deep breaths, attempting to subdue the revulsion threatening to rise. "You didn't see it, Ron…it was horrible."

Hermione rushed at Harry and attached herself to his arm, her fingers worrying at the thin cloth of his sleeve. "Harry," she said with some difficulty, "you do realize that it might not have been real."

Harry bristled. No, he hadn't ever thought that it might not have been real, but… "No, Hermione. There's no way it wasn't real. You don't understand…I could…feel the things Malfoy felt…it was like…" the words _I became him_ were left floating on the edge of Harry's lips. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say them. He knew what they would think.

"Harry," Hermione stroked his arm gently. "I don't mean to sound like I don't believe you but…isn't that exactly like what happened in our fifth year, when you had the dream about Ron's dad…and then about Sirius?" She said his godfather's name softly, as if it were the switch to set off a bomb.

"I don't know." Harry slithered out of Hermione's possessive grasp. He wished she wouldn't have proved him right. Of course he knew what it sounded like—as if he could forget the deception that had lead to his godfather's death. Harry swallowed thickly and attempted to push thoughts of Sirius from his mind. This was different, he could feel it.

"Well until you do know," Ron said, snapping Harry from his reverie, "'Mione and I don't think you should see any more of Malfoy."

The words hung like poison in the air. Harry looked at Hermione, only to see her eyes gazing at him with solemn resignation. So that was how it was going to be then? After _everything_ they'd been through, this was how it was?

Harry bristled, his stomach twisting as it bubbled with acerbic anger. "If you didn't notice, the fact that I didn't go off to have a cup of tea with Voldemort every Tuesday afternoon didn't stop him from putting things in my head! And I made Malfoy a promise…how would it look if I were the one to back out?"

The air became sharp and electric as Ron's face proceeded to darken rapidly. "So what you're saying is that you don't give a fuck what your friends think, is that it?"

Harry felt his own cheeks heat. "Ron, stop putting words in my mouth! You're not even trying to understand that—"

"Well if you don't want us around anymore then get the hell out of my house!"

Hermione's eyes bulged. "Ron, no!" She flung herself at her boyfriend. "Ron don't say that!" She turned to Harry, her eyes wide and pleading. "He doesn't mean it, Harry, he doesn't!"

Green locked with blue, and Harry believed without a shadow of a doubt that Ron very much meant every word he said. _What am I doing?_ Harry thought frantically, _Jeopardizing my relationship with my two best friends for the likes of a Malfoy?_ But something stilled the apologies resting on Harry's tongue. "Fine then," Harry replied with an icy calmness. "I'll leave."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Harry sat alone in the darkness of number twelve Grimmauld Place, musing over the day and, wondering why in the world he wasn't sitting at the Weasley table enjoying a nice bowl of stew. Harry's stomach grumbled irately at him. It was dinnertime now, and the only food Harry had available was a bit of stale bread and cheese (Kreacher—as it happened—wasn't much of a cook).

He hadn't said a word to the Weasley family before he left, which he had immediately regretted. Mrs. Weasley was sure to go into a fit upon realizing he'd left. But so far, none of them had contacted him, much less try to come after him. Maybe Malfoy had been right…maybe they didn't need him anymore.

_Bloody Malfoy!_ It was _his_ fault he was thinking these ridiculous things! Harry fisted his hair painfully, feeling annoyed and exhausted from the day's exertions. What was he thinking? Of course they needed him. Even now, when Voldemort was dead, they still wanted him around…didn't they? _I'm being stupid. Of course they want me around. They're my friends._ Stupid Malfoy, what did he know? Once Ron cooled down, everything would be all right. Ron would understand, wouldn't he? He may be a stubborn headstrong bastard at times, but once he realized that Malfoy wasn't trying to fulfill some devious revenge, he would apologize. Right?

That night, he dreamt again.

He was in a library, shaded blue with the night and draped in heavy shadows. It was soft here; quiet, and as he looked around he saw that someone was sitting on the ledge of an open window. Harry held his breath, thinking the noise would somehow disturb the image before him. It was Malfoy, perched on the edge of the windowsill with his back resting against the stone side, one knee tucked against his chest and the other extended downward, so that the toe of his shoe barely graced the marble floor.

His hair was a stark halo of white in the crisp light of the moon, and the line of his jaw looked smooth and cold as stone. He was gazing up at the sky. Harry couldn't see his face though—not from where he stood.

The doors suddenly crashed open. Harry's head whipped to the side as he pressed himself flush against the shadowed bookcases.

"Draco," Lucius Malfoy stormed into the room, tight lipped and fists clenched, "what are you doing in here? You were supposed to be in my study over twenty minutes ago."

Harry saw Draco turn slowly, his cool demeanor unruffled by his father's entrance. His grey eyes met his father's, cold and indifferent as ice. "I didn't know your need to see me was so urgent." His voice was gentle, despite his glacial expression.

Lucius' high cheekbones bloomed with red fury. He took an ominous step forward, and Harry noticed that he leaned heavily on his cane as he did so. Harry frowned—had Lucius ever actually used his cane before?

The elder Malfoy glared at his son, his normal sneering mask contorted with anger, "Don't you dare talk that way to me, boy!"

Draco sighed and turned away from the man once more. "Then don't ask me a question if you're not wanting the answer."

"Why you—" Harry's whole body trembled violently as Lucius leapt towards his son, grabbing him by the front of the robes and thrashing him against the wall. Draco didn't even move to stop him—his expression never even changed. Lucius backhanded Draco hard across the face, nearly falling over as he did so, but nevertheless the strike brought blood. Bile surged up Harry's throat as he remembered the blackened skin on Draco's torso. Harry had known about the beatings—Draco had so much as admitted that his father was the assaulter—but seeing it happening…here…now…

Draco's father thrashed him once more. "I'll kill you!" Lucius spat through bared teeth, "You filthy, disgusting little blemish on my life! Merlin, I'll kill you! This is all your fault! And you look at me with that superior look of yours! Well I won't have it, I tell you! No one looks at me like that!"

Harry had to do something. But as he jerked forward he found his feet fastened to the ground. He stared wildly down at his feet then back up at the Malfoys, his heart racing. He didn't understand it. How could this be happening? Draco was Lucius' son! His _son_! What could he have possibly done to merit being handed over to Voldemort at fifteen? What hate could run so deep that a boy was subjected to the unprovoked wrath of his own father?

Then something very strange happened: the edges of Draco's mouth lifted into a small smile. "If it makes it easer for you, father, to be angry with me…that's all right. I don't mind."

And Harry saw something in Lucius crumble at that moment; the fury in his eyes melting into revulsion laced with heart sickening sorrow. His white knuckled hold on his son slacked, and as Draco's feet hit the floor, Lucius collapsed to his knees. The sound of his cane rattling to the stone floor echoed like a clap of thunder. Draco merely stared down at him, his brows knitted as his father buried his face and hands into his son's robes.

"I'll kill you," Lucius' shoulders shook with a great sob.

Draco wrapped his arms around his father's head, stroking his long matted hair like it was something precious. The young blonde pressed his eyes closed as he bowed over his father, burying his face into the elder man's hair. Harry stared at them with wide eyes. What was Draco doing? How could he…?

"It's going to be all right, father," Draco whispered solemnly. "I'll make it better. You'll see."

_Bang!_

Harry started awake to the sound of frantic knocking at the door, his heart beating frantically and his vision blurred. Ignoring the haze of the dream that still fogged his brain, he felt around for his glasses. Harry pushed them on his nose; the knocking grew louder. Harry glanced at his wristwatch and grimaced—who would be knocking on his door at 2:00AM? Grumbling, he threw himself out of bed and made his way downstairs towards the door. Maybe one of them had finally come for him. That must be it. Ron or Hermione. Who else could it be?

He creaked open the door. "Hey, listen—" There was a flash of red and suddenly arms were around his neck, holding him in a strangling embrace. "G—Ginny?" Harry cried in half bewilderment.

"Harry!" Ginny sobbed into his shirt. She repeated his name, over and over again as if she were in some sort of frenzy.

"Ginny, just calm down!" He peeled the crying girl off his neck, and stroked her cheek gently. "Are you all right? You're mum and everyone, are they all right?"

The redhead nodded shakily. "They are."

"Ginny," Harry cupped her face in his hands, "do they know you're here? Tell me what's wrong." He stared at her face, so familiar to him he could trace the freckles with his eyes closed. He still loved her deeply. There was just something about the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled…but her eyes were hazy now, and more distant than he had ever seen them. The Ginny he knew was gone, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know the girl who stood before him now.

"Why did you leave?" her voice was barely audible.

Harry choked, not expecting the question. "It's complicated." he replied shortly. "I just…needed to get away for a while. That's not what all this fuss is about, is it?"

"And what about Malfoy?" she whispered, her eyes flashing frantically. "Will he know you're here?"

Harry's brows knitted. Why would she ask about Malfoy? "I thought you hated Malfoy."

"I do!" she sobbed, grabbing at Harry's shirt. "You just seemed so happy after you saw him…happy with him like you used to be happy with me."

Harry blinked down at her, his breath caught in his throat. What could she have possibly meant by that? Not wanting to think about it, he pulled her close, combing her vibrant hair with his fingers, and attempted to repress any memories of his first night with Malfoy. Ginny's body felt so different against his in comparison. Ginny was the softness and gentility that he wanted to hold and protect—she was smooth and delicate like a lake in spring. And if Ginny was a lake, then Malfoy was a raging fire; all sharpness and spirit and consuming energy. "I'm always happy with you, Ginny. You know that."

She buried her face into his chest. "I don't care. I don't care. It hurts, Harry…it hurts so much."

"What does?" Harry's stomach churned with a certain grief. Something felt terribly wrong, but he couldn't quite place his finger on what had his nerves on edge. Why was she so upset? What was hurting her so deeply? And why was that dream still lingering over the forefront of his mind?

Ginny shook her head vigorously, reverting back to repeating his name with sickening sorrow.

Harry cooed to her calmly, whispering reassurance into her ear. "Don't cry, Ginny," he whispered. "I'll take you home. Don't cry."

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

So yes...the next chapter is going to be beyond long...I've already written a lot of it out in dialogue and it's somewhere around 5000 words already *shakes head*

**Reviews make me colon capital D! (If anybody got that Big Bang Theory reference...I love you)**


	10. The Field

**A/N**: I'M SORRY THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG! D: This time of year is always the worst...and what with tests and finals and planning out my Christmas vacation I've had absolutely no time. But! there is good news in all of this! I actually have most of this story written out now (in my journal at least), so I should be able to post more frequently. Yay?

P.S. Thank you to all of you who reviewed! They always make my day and I always get so excited to read them.

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Speak to my heart, tell what you know_

_The pain of my longing, it seems to grow._

_Speak oh my star, tell me if he will come._

_Warm August night, full of desire_

_Search for my love while I hold this fire_

_Wanting an angel to smile walking by my way._

_Oh, sometimes it seems so hard to explain it_

_But you, my star bright friend_

_Please tell me if he will stay._

-Hayley Westenra

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Harry had taken Ginny back to the Burrow early the next morning—needless to say, what with Ginny's hysterical state, he hadn't slept at all for the remainder of the night. Upon arriving, he was met with an enthusiastically upset Mrs. Weasley, whose eyes were shining with tears even as she smiled at him. He was sure she would make a fuss about his leaving, but surprisingly enough she let him go on his way once she was assured that Ginny was, in every physical way, unharmed. Ginny, of course, did not help with his fumbling explanation; she had fallen back into silence the moment she left Harry's arms. His eyes traveled searchingly over her face, but she was nothing but a husk now.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley had said imploringly. "I'm sorry for anything Ron…may have said. You will come back soon won't you? For your birthday at least?" Her eyes began to glisten in the early morning sunlight. "I think Ginny's better when you're here."

Harry bit his lip to keep from frowning. "Of course I will, Mrs. Weasley. I would never miss a chance to eat one of your cakes." He tried to ignore the dull ache growing in his chest and forced his lips to smile.

She returned the smile, but likewise it was noticeably forced, and with that she disappeared into the Burrow, leaving Harry alone on the lawn.

He hadn't slept well since then—a couple hours per night at most. The majority of his week was spent wandering aimlessly around the house, trying to find some way to amuse himself. He had gone to London once, to run errands and such, but had been bombarded by hoards of people everywhere he went. Nobody would let him pay for anything, and he was practically ushered into and out of all the stores he attempted to shop at.

He soon decided that going out in public probably wasn't the best thing for him now. He couldn't handle all the commotion, nor did he want to. All Harry wanted to do was relax and enjoy the summer. He couldn't remember the last summer he'd allowed himself to enjoy. Actually he couldn't even remember _one_ he'd enjoyed. Summers with Dursleys had been hard enough when he was younger, but then…after Voldemort came back—well—they had been nearly unbearable.

_Voldemort_. Somehow, Harry knew he would never escape that name.

Even with Voldemort dead, he was still all anybody ever talked about. The war's darkness still clouded his mind as he lay beneath the covers of his bed each night. No matter how he tried, he simply couldn't escape it. This is why Harry never liked studying wars in school. He never saw the point of them. They were a useless and agonizing means to an end. There was nothing in them but pain and suffering. What did a war prove anyway? That one army could beat up another? There was never any guarantee that the right people would win. After all, the defeated were never the ones who wrote the history books…they never got the chance to tell their side of the story.

Even with Voldemort dead, his presence still lingered on, haunting this veil of piece that they'd so carefully woven together after the war. Darkness still clouded Harry's mind as he lay beneath the covers every night—confining and inescapable. It seemed to suffocate him, pressing down on his chest with a weight so heavy that it was hard to breathe. So much had been lost, and Harry couldn't help but feel he had missed something somewhere along the way. Something vital.

_Face it, Potter, you're so wrapped up in your golden shining idea about what's right and what's wrong that you don't even pay attention to the grey in between! _

Malfoy had been right about that much at least. Harry hadn't seen the grey. He couldn't afford to back then. It had always them and us. Light and dark. But what about the people who'd been stuck in the middle? The people who hadn't had a choice? Voldemort had never left room for choice, but then again, Harry realized, either had he.

These thoughts passed through Harry's mind like a torrent, threatening to consume him. The only heart-lifting moments of the week revolved around the fact that Saturday was fast approaching. Friday evening found Harry sitting over a steaming plate of pasta, feeling as near to content as he had felt all week.

His curiosity had been peaked. It was strong and seemingly unquenchable. Whenever he thought of their morning together at the house on the sea, he would get a strange sort of tingling sensation in his chest. It was something just shy of anticipation. They'd been at each other's throats for so long, fighting meaningless fights and yelling meaningless words—they'd been children. But meeting Malfoy now, as a man, and seeing everything that had grown in him and between them both left Harry's stomach uneasy. To no longer be enemies was one thing, but to be _friends_…well that was something else entirely. He couldn't quite seem to imagine it, and yet, there was a part of him that wanted to know what it would be like. He wanted to know what he would find if he managed to peel away the mask.

Spooning noodles into his mouth, Harry somehow knew that tonight would be another sleepless night.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"You look like shit, Potter." Harry could hear the sneer hidden in Malfoy's voice as he neared the park.

Harry allowed a small smile to curl at the corners of his mouth. "You're early again."

The blonde shrugged nonchalantly. "I was bored."

"At _four in the morning_?"

"Just take the broom you damn ponce." Malfoy threw him a broom and, without so much as a hinting gesture, took off into the fading night.

It was a scramble, but Harry finally managed to catch up to the blonde. The Slytherin, however, did not make it easy. He raced through the cloudless sky at near-breakneck speed, and it was only a short while before Harry's eyes and face began to sting with cold. The night air ripped at him—cutting through his jumper to bite at his skin. "Malfoy!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs. "For God's sake slow down!"

Malfoy didn't seem to hear him, or if he did, he certainly didn't show it. Harry slicked himself against his broom as the two dove towards the earth, the world rushing past him in a blur of pale greys and blues.

They practically slammed into the ground, and if Harry had not been particularly familiar with flying he would have found himself rocketed out of his seat. "Malfoy! What in the seven hells was that?" Harry snapped, swinging over the broom and hopping to the ground. His legs felt shaky beneath him, but he managed to keep them steady enough to stand.

The blonde too dismounted, his boots thudding soundly on the dewy grass. "I wanted to get here before I thought better of it." Malfoy gazed around the field they had just landed in, his expression hard, as if this mellow barren countryside was more than just dirt and grass.

Harry laid his broom on the ground and walked over to the other boy, not quite satisfied with Malfoy's explanation. "Why would you think better of it?"

"I just would," the Slytherin returned, his grey eyes sharp.

"So why—"

"I've never shown this place to anyone else before, Potter, so don't make me rethink my decision," he spat, giving Harry a cold pointed glare. Sighing, Malfoy turned and began to walk, and Harry hurriedly fell into step, his temper deflated. "I didn't really know where I wanted to go with you until last night—not that I thought about it much." The blonde threw him a sneer. "I have much better things to think about, like torturing cute fluffy animals, or what to wear in the morning, or how many times a day I should—"

"Malfoy," Harry scolded, giving the other boy a withering look.

"But I guess, if you really want to know me," Malfoy continued, ignoring Harry's berate, "this is as good a place as any to start."

Harry looked out across the field, unarguably intrigued. Why would Malfoy have any sort of history here? He had always figured the Malfoys would never set foot in a forest or a grassy meadow for fear that their clothing might get stained, or that the sun would burn their delicate pale skin.

Malfoy too gazed at the field, his expression growing wistful. "I came here to play quite often when I was young." He spoke softly, in the hushed, private tones of a secret. "The grass was layered with violets back then, and my mother always loved the way I smelled when I came back. She never knew where I went though, nor did my father. They would have greatly disapproved of such childish antics. Plus, it absolutely ruined my clothing." Harry smiled to himself. "Dobby—I do hope you remember the house elf you maliciously stole from me so long ago—set me up a portkey to here from Malfoy Manor. I would come here almost every Sunday afternoon, while my parents entertained."

"And you always came by yourself?" Harry asked. The thought made him feel sad for some reason.

"Yes, of course. I preferred it that way," the blonde answered simply.

"Why?"

Malfoy's grey eyes flickered thoughtfully. "I don't know. Just to…have time with my thoughts. People are so boring most of the time, with their endless tiring words. And if they're not boring, they're stupid. You're the epitome of both."

Harry frowned, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out. "Can't say you're much better."

The Slytherin shrugged, retreating back into his shell of seriousness. "Regardless, I didn't want anybody else here. It would have…ruined it somehow."

Malfoy ran a hand wearily through his hair, his eyes hazed with a distant memory. "Of course, I didn't have any preconceived notion that it would last forever, though it did last longer than I had hoped. I was thirteen by the time my father found out where I went every Sunday, and needless to say—well—he was quite upset. He said he suddenly knew why I'd been such a child all those years."

Malfoy stopped suddenly, becoming very still. Blinking, Harry looked back at him and saw that he was several shades paler than normal. His grey eyes were locked on the ground, gleaming with a barely concealed emotion. Harry followed his gaze to find a withered bouquet of violets lying on the grass just in front of them, tied together with a single black ribbon. Harry stared down at the dried flowers, brown and horribly rotted against the lively green of the field.

"He forbade me to come here, of course," Malfoy said slowly, darkness creeping into his voice. "But not before he took a trip here with me first—so I could _grow up_." The words made Harry shudder for some reason. He looked back at Malfoy and felt his breath catch. There was something broken in his expression.

"I still remember—it was a warm Sunday night, and it was darker than usual…there was no moon." Malfoy took a long shaky breath. "My father and I traveled here by portkey, and the only thing I remember about the beginning of that night is the smell," and then he exhaled forcefully, "the smell of burning flowers.

"There were people there to meet us, cloaked in black and standing in a loose ring around a dark, bundled figure. As my father and I neared, I saw that they were standing around a woman. I remember her face so well, I can see it before me even now; dark hair and eyes, with skin so fair and thin it looked like parchment. I don't know whether those men were Death Eaters or not, but they might as well have been…for what they did to her.

"I remember fire and glistening blood…my father leading me to the center of the circle, and the twisting feeling in my stomach like I wanted to retch."

Harry noticed that the blonde had begun to shiver, and at that moment Harry wanted nothing more than to comfort him; to embrace him, to give him that small gesture of comfort and tell him that it was just a nightmare long past. But he wouldn't. No matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn't…because Malfoy wouldn't want it that way. The Slytherin would take the gesture as an insult—he would think Harry was calling him weak.

"My father gave me a dagger and told me that if I loved him, if I respected him…if I wanted to uphold the Malfoy name, I would plunge that dagger into her heart.

Malfoy's eyes hardened, but they never left the bouquet. "I asked him why she was to be killed, and my father replied that it was because her blood had been soiled. He told me that she had committed adultery against a fellow pure-blooded wizard with a muggle, who had left her with child. And he told me other things she'd done—things I'd been taught to hate. He told me that she did not deserve to die with the quick mercy of the killing curse.

"And in that moment Potter, I _hated_ her. I hated her so much it made my blood boil and my muscles tense with rage. As I looked at her, I believed she deserved to die…I believed that she and her unborn child did not have the right to live in this world. I remember the betrayal I felt, that one of my own kind would so lower themselves. And all of it balled up so tightly inside of me I thought…Merlin, I thought might burst. I had the dagger raised…but—"

"You couldn't do it." Harry breathed. Malfoy's eyes rose to meet his, and they held a storm such as Harry had never seen before. Both boys were short of breath now, so caught up in the intensity, it seemed to happen right before them.

"No, Potter." Malfoy replied, his tone cold and harsh. "My father took my hand in his, and together we drove the dagger into her heart."

Harry felt his entire body go rigid, and he found he had to force air into his lungs. "Malfoy—"

"She didn't scream, not even as her blood pooled onto my hand. The men cackled and howled like wolves, but she…she was silent. And with her dying breath she leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

"'I'm sorry.' she told me, and then…I watched the light leave her eyes, and I laughed." Malfoy remained as stone, as if no emotion could penetrate his hardened shell. "I've read somewhere that fire purifies the earth…but, no violets have ever grown here since that night."

The two were silent for a long time, each taking in the reality of what was just spoken. They didn't look at each other anymore. They couldn't. Harry felt the familiar sting of tears welling in his eyes. "Why did you tell me this?"

Malfoy rounded on him, caught up in the fury of the moment. "Because I want you to understand that I am not the innocent that Dumbledore said I was! I have done things in my life, Potter, horrible things, and I don't want you under the delusion that I'm some poor misunderstood puppet!"

"But—" Harry's words jumbled in his mouth, "you're sorry aren't you? The bouquet—it must mean—" His jaw tensed uncooperatively. "If you're father hadn't helped you...surely you wouldn't have—"

"What does it matter whether I'm sorry or not, Potter?" the Slytherin asked in a dead calm. "It won't change the things that happened. It won't bring that woman or her unborn child back."

"Of course it matters, Malfoy!" Harry quickly turned to grasp the other boy by his shoulders. "That's the difference between us and people like Voldemort. Don't you understand?" He shook the other boy once, hard. "Tell me you're sorry about it!"

The blonde looked away, his eyes shadowed with a deadened glaze. "I don't know. She was my first, and I think a part of me is sorry for it…but it's not like that with all the others." Their gazes locked once more, and Harry tightened his grip. "I hate muggles because I was raised to hate them. It's in my blood—"

Harry recoiled sharply. "Oh don't start spouting your father's pure blood shit at me, Malfoy."

Malfoy sneered. "Do you hate me for it, Potter? Do you hate the fact that I may have actually enjoyed killing those filthy—"

Harry's fist slammed firmly into Malfoy's jaw, and the Slytherin toppled backwards and fell to the ground. "You're a fucking bastard sometimes, do you know that? How dare you start mouthing off about pure blood to me! I know for a fact that you hated Voldemort just as much as I did, idiotic beliefs included!"

Malfoy pushed himself up into a sitting position, wiping the blood from his lip and glared up at Harry. "What makes you so sure, Potter?"

The sun was rising now, blazing over the horizon with untamed ferocity. Harry held the blonde glare for glare. "If you really believed in his ideals, then you wouldn't be here right now."

"Got me all figured out do you?"

Harry was silent for a long moment, forcing his anger back under the net of his control. This was getting them nowhere. He needed Malfoy to see—needed him to _understand_ what he meant. Slowly, Harry bent his knees and lowered himself to the ground, his fingers wrapping around the withered bouquet of violets. "I don't have you figured out, Malfoy, and I'm not going to try and pretend like I do. But I do know one thing that maybe you don't." He rose back to his feet, bringing the flowers to his lips. They still carried their sweet floral smell. "You're not like Voldemort, and you're not like your father. They would never have asked for forgiveness."

Their eyes met, and Malfoy looked rigid, like a dried branch on a tree ready to snap. "I didn't ask for forgiveness," he spat unkindly. "I don't need it."

With the smallest of breaths, the brown deadness of the flowers melted away into a flurry of color. Harry walked towards Malfoy with a soft smile and kneeled down in front of him. "Maybe you don't. But," he extended his arm, "I want to give it to you anyway."

Malfoy stared at the flowers, his lips pursed and his eyes questioning. He reached forward with a slow cautiousness, wrapping his fingers around the stem of the bouquet. Their hands brushed and Harry fought the urge to jump at the touch of pale, soft skin.

Harry's eyes flickered over Malfoy's face. "They were for her, weren't they."

"Yes," the blonde replied softly, his hands ghosting over the vibrant petals. "They were. I bring them every once and a while…when I can get away from the house. Stupid, right?"

"No. It's not stupid at all." Harry leaned forward, looking sincere. "It's really…well, I think it's really beautiful."

Malfoy's smirk was closer to a smile than usual. "Beautiful, Potter? Since when did you become so sentimental?"

"Must be a Gryffindor thing." Harry shrugged and gave the other boy a standoffish grin.

"I'll second that."

Harry sat back on his heels, shaking his head in amusement. His expression, however, turned sour as he looked out across the horizon. The sun was almost in full view now, and Harry wondered how much longer the two had together. He didn't much like the thought of returning to the loneliness of Grimmauld Place only to live out another dreadful week of waiting for next Saturday. "Malfoy," Harry began slowly, an idea seeping into his mind, "have you by chance gone to buy a new wand yet?"

The blonde gave him a veiled sidelong look. "No."

Harry glanced around at the grass, fingering it nervously. "Do you want to go to Ollivanders with me? I'll buy you a new one if you like…you know, seeing as I kind of took your old one."

"Why can't you just give it back to me?" the blonde asked, his brow raised.

Harry reddened. He couldn't exactly tell Malfoy the truth about the whole thing—how he, Ron, and Hermione had destroyed it after Harry's wand had been fixed. They had known the wand itself hadn't been tied to who mastered the Elder Wand, but even so they hadn't been willing to take any chances. Lying seemed like the best option. "Well, you see—er—I sort of lost it, and anyway I didn't think you would even still want to use it after I had, and—"

Malfoy smirked, "You're right about that. Gryffindor germs are the worst—not even my wand is worth getting exposed to whatever kind of crazy your lot is infected with." His expression suddenly turned inquisitive. "But, won't the Weasels mind you being out?"

"No," Harry said shakily, trying not to think back on his argument with Ron. "Why would they?"

Malfoy smiled, almost knowingly. "Fine then. I guess I've got some extra time to kill."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

The idea had seemed good at first, as many ideas do, but as soon as the two boys arrived at Diagon Alley Harry was reminded, rather persistently, of why he had kept himself away from the public. People flocked in droves at the very sight of him, and within five minutes of their arrival the two boys barely had space enough to stand.

Harry heard Malfoy groan irately in his ear. "What is this, Potter?"

"Don't ask me." Harry replied with equal vehemence. "It's been like this all summer."

All around were faces—some bright, some gloomed, but they were all shouting, "HARRY! HARRY!"

"HARRY LET ME TAKE YOU TO—"

"NO LET ME!"

"WHO'S THAT WITH YOU HARRY?"

Harry vainly attempted to silence them, but his voice was no match for such an impressive mass.

"I KNOW WHO THAT IS! THAT'S LUCIUS MALFOY'S SON!"

The discord suddenly dimmed. Faces fell and creased with anger, and Harry suddenly found he would much rather be stuck in a loud adoring crowd than this one.

Harry turned back towards Malfoy, only to find that his face mirrored the crowd's. "Have that out of your systems now do you?" the blonde yelled icily. "Well, move along then!"

Harry felt a hand slide into the crook of his arm and pull him forward. The blonde dragged him through the dense swarm, which parted for them with the ease and silence of water. Harry tried to block out their whispers as he passed, but they fell upon him like scattered droplets of rain.

"A _Death Eater's_ son. He was one too, no doubt"

"What is Harry Potter doing with the likes of _him_?"

"…a Slytherin I bet."

"Has Harry Potter ever socialized with Slytherins before?"

"Of course not!"

"…a Death Eater's son…"

"…that's dangerous…"

The voices faded away with the small chiming of a bell and the creaking of old hinges. The two boys entered Ollivander's Wand Shop in silence; Malfoy still gripping Harry's arm with a painful tightness, while Harry allowed the quiet of the room settle his nerves.

"Oi! I'll be out it a sec!" a youthful voice called, causing both boys to jump.

Harry had heard that Ollivander had left his shop to his young nephew, though he had hoped it had just been a rumor. But Harry didn't blame the man—he was terribly old, and the war had taken a harder toll on him than most; it was no wonder he retired.

A scraggly-headed youth rounded the corner, smiling largely through his smoke stained face. His small wispy frame, indeed, greatly hinted to his relation with Ollivander, along with the slightly eccentric spark that glinted in his amber eyes. "Hullo! The name's Fendyl!" he greeted enthusiastically. "Come for a repair? A check up maybe?"

Malfoy's hand slipped from Harry's arm, and the Gryffindor felt a strange coolness settle in its absence. "I'm in need of a new wand actually. My old one has fallen upon some very poor circumstances I'm afraid." The Slytherin cast a pointedly sour face back at Harry, who merely rolled his eyes.

Fendyl's eyes flickered between the two. "I see," he said with a wide smile. "Well, you've come to the right place! I'm assuming you'd like something a bit more advanced than your previous one yes? What did your last wand contain?"

"It was Hawthorn, with a dragon heartstring core and three unicorn hairs."

"Nice strong wood, Hawthorn is." Fendyl said, nodding. "Hm, I think I know one. Uncle Olli made it years ago. There's not a better wand in all of England I'll tell ya that!" He trotted off through the rows of unending shelves, disappearing into the clouds of dust.

Harry grimaced, once again recollecting the Elder Wand, which now lay safely buried in Dumbledore's tomb. "There won't be for long," he whispered under his breath. It was strange somehow, knowing that as long as he was alive, the power of the Elder Wand could still threaten the wizarding world. But there was nothing to worry about…hardy anyone knew about it, much less knew where it was.

"Ah! Here we are!" Fendyl appeared once more, carrying a long gold dusted box. "Thirteen inch Hawthorn with a dragon heartstring core just like your old one. Good for more complex spells—Uncle Olli added shavings from Thestral hooves, to give more dexterity. One of his more ingenious creations I think, but it's been a bit overpowering for most customers. Want to give it a wave?"

Fendyl guided the top off the box, cradling it under his arm. Harry watched Malfoy's eyes brighten as he stared down at the flawlessly tongued wood. Delicately, the blonde took the wand from the box, grasping the precious instrument in his hand. The air around them seemed to stir slightly, and Harry felt the familiar magnetic energy of untamed magic burst from the wand. The wand was merely an extension of Malfoy's hand now.

"Beautiful." Fendyl said softly, nodding. "I've never seen a better pair."

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a covered look. "Go on and get it if you like." Harry said, finding the words peculiar as they spilled over his lips. Malfoy didn't need his permission to buy the wand. What in the world was he thinking?

"I think I will," Malfoy said, taking the box from Fendyl's arms with a new air of possessiveness. "How much?"

Harry paid Ollivander's nephew a healthy sum and he left the shop with Malfoy, who looked rather satisfied.

Harry found himself smiling at Malfoy's elated state. The blonde held the new wand in his hand, spinning it between his fingers so as to get used to the weight and shape. _It must have been hard on him…going for so long without a wand. _

"Hey," Harry said suddenly, "do you wanna come back to my place for a while?" The words ran across Harry's lips before he even had time to think about them. He felt his face scrunch in embarrassment. "I—I mean…if you have nothing to do of course…I mean well, I know it would be boring b-but I just thought—"

"Don't stutter, Potter." Malfoy said with a small smile. "It makes you sound as idiotic as you look. I mean that in the most loving way possible of course."

Harry flushed.

"And besides, I thought you were staying with the Weasleys." The blonde raised a pale brow, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Since when do you have a place of your own?"

"I—uh—well," Harry silently condemned his ill-responsive mouth. "I just needed—to be alone for a while you know? The Burrow…it's just so loud all the time. You understand."

Malfoy looked at him, showing no pretense of believing the lie he had just heard, and Harry felt something in his chest start to sink. Malfoy crossed his arms, turning his eyes up to the sky. "Well, with all those Weasels running about I suppose it would get a tad loud, and I don't want to even touch on the subject of smell." Whatever had been sinking in Harry's chest suddenly leapt up in exuberance, and Harry found his mouth curling into a broad grin. "I suppose I could stop by for a while," the blonde continued nonchalantly, "seeing as I haven't nearly reached my quota of insults for the day, and this would give me the perfect opportunity."

"Well, believe me, you'll fill your quota in this place."

Both boys laughed lightly as they mounted their brooms, and even as the minutes flew by, quick and blurred as the trees and buildings below, Harry's face did not tire of its smile.

It was only when he saw the first glimmer of Grimmauld Place that his expression dropped. Sitting on his doorstep was a tired-looking, extremely upset Hermione.

Harry and Malfoy exchanged glances as they touched to the ground. Hermione's head shot up when she heard them, and she practically threw herself from the stone steps. The brunette ran towards him, and Harry quickly realized her eyes were smudged, rimmed red from tears.

"Harry!" she cried, gripping him by the arms so tightly her nails nearly broke the skin. "It's Ginny! Something's wrong!"

Something akin to a ball of gillyweed became lodged in Harry's throat. He looked to Malfoy, whose jaw was set in a hard firm line, back to Hermione, who looked pale as death.

"She's in St. Mungos! Please, Harry, you have to come now!"

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Well that was a doozy huh? A lot happened...I know...but I kind of had to push it all into this one chapter to have it all flow right in the others :/

**Pwease review! And thank you for reading my sad little fic**


	11. White Washed Walls

**A/N**: Soooooo, I'm sure there is no amount of apologies I can make for taking so long :( There have been a lot of revisals and changes going on with this story along with other things...but anyway! On to it!

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_You feel so lonely and ragged_

_You lay there broken and naked_

_My love is just waiting_

_To clothe you in crimson roses._

_I'll be the one that's gonna find you _

_I'll be the one that's gonna guide you_

_My love is a burning, consuming fire._

-Skillet

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

"Harry! Where in the world have you been? Come on!" Hermione sobbed, pulling him towards the door.

But Harry's attention was currently set on Malfoy, who was looking at him with the strangest expression Harry had ever seen. The emotion was guarded enough to render it beyond recognition, but his eyes were laden with a dark sort of discomfort.

He turned towards Hermione, pulling back pleadingly. "Hermione wait. I think Malfoy should come."

Hermione started, seeing Malfoy for perhaps the first time since the two boys had arrived. Her hysteria dissipated in a moment of calculation. "Harry, I don't think—"

"Ginny's asked about him before. That's a bit strange don't you think?" Harry interrupted before Hermione could say anything sensible enough to change his mind. "That should be reason enough."

The brunette's brow creased as she looked up at him. "Harry, please, I really don't think it's a good idea. You don't understand what happened. We can't—"

"Hermione," Harry knew that Hermione could read him like a book, and she knew that when he had his mind set on something, there was no changing it.

She sighed and released his arm. "Just hurry, Harry."

Harry nodded curtly, and ran back to where the other boy stood waiting. "Malfoy," their eyes met and he felt suddenly very short of breath. "Come with me."

Malfoy shifted. "I really should be getting back. It's past noon and—"

"Please, Malfoy." Harry pleaded, his voice turning soft. "I don't want to be alone there." He felt stupid almost as soon as he said it. Obviously he wouldn't be alone. Hermione, Ron, and all the other Weasleys would be there. But, he hadn't meant it that way. He hadn't known exactly how he'd meant it, only that it was somehow true.

Something flickered in Malfoy's grey eyes—an understanding that Harry hadn't even dared to hope for. "All right," he said slowly. "But only because I plan on finding a way of checking you in as a patient before I leave."

**_xXxXxXx_**

Every time Harry entered St. Mungo's Hospital he always hoped it would be his last time to see those painfully bright white-washed walls. There was something horribly sterile about hospitals—some eerie sense that the white walls were there for no other purpose but to hide the filth behind them.

The three were met at the front desk by a cheeky nurse who insisted that Ginny Weasley was off limits to anyone but family members. Harry could practically see steam emitting from Hermione's ears. The two girls quarreled, and as Harry gazed around the lobby, he noticed that its occupants didn't seem too thrilled about the sudden rise in volume.

"Security!" the nurse's shrill voice rang.

Malfoy made a sound that indicated his annoyed state. "Let me handle this, Granger." He pushed the brunette aside, and leaned over the marble counter. He flashed a brilliant smile, which rendered the nurse momentarily silent, and left nothing but a profuse blush on her face. "My dear," he cooed venomously, "do you see this young lad here to my left."

Malfoy gestured towards Harry, and the nurse made a choked sort of noise.

"Do you know who he is?" the Slytherin asked, his voice like a sweet poison.

The nurse's eyes practically bulged from their sockets. "Oh goodness!" she squeaked, "Harry Potter!" The entire room went still, save for the thudding of the security guards' steps as they neared the front desk.

"Is everything alright here?" the first security guard questioned in a deep raspy voice.

The nurse waved them off, smiling and laughing half hysterically. "Of course! Of course! Be on your way now!"

The guards exchanged furtive glances. "Miss Linda, are you sure—"

"I said scat!" she shrieked. "Can't you see that _Harry Potter_ is trying to see someone?"

Harry shrank as he felt the eyes of the entire room close in on him.

"She's in room 742 in the psychiatric department," the nurse said, her voice now as cheery as a sunny morning.

"Thank you, Linda," Malfoy purred with a wink, and turned to walk down the corridor, clearly expecting to be followed.

Harry looked at Hermione, who was staring after Malfoy with a murderous glare. "That arrogant bastard!" she huffed. "That cocky little—"

"Come on, 'Mione," Harry pulled the frazzled brunette behind him, and making sure to keep close to Malfoy's heels. Admittedly, he disliked Malfoy's methods just as much as Hermione, but as long as they got in to see Ginny, none of that really mattered. He would undergo any amount of humiliation if it would help. Maybe that was why the eyes that followed them as they passed through the halls didn't bother him. Or at least they didn't until he noticed who they were looking at. He saw gazes turn to fire as they passed over the young blonde, and Harry felt an icy rage begin to coil in his stomach. The whispers filled his ears once ore—the same whispers he'd heard in Diagon Alley.

"…Lucius Malfoy's son…"

"…Death Eater…"

"…_dangerous_…"

By the time they reached the seventh floor, Harry was about ready to burst. Why didn't everyone just keep to their own business? Who were they to judge?

He gazed ahead at Malfoy's back, his brow pulled tight. The blonde had to hear them. So why was he ignoring them? Harry bit his lip, his mind grinding at the question. Maybe, it was easier just for the blonde to pretend he didn't hear. What could he do really? What could he say? His father _was_ a Death Eater—of course people were going to talk.

They made several sharp turns and finally ended up in a long narrow hallway, which was thankfully empty. Harry found he had to squint his eyes for the brightness of the floor and walls, so perfect was their whiteness. The doors were all identical—pearly white with plain silver knobs, decorated only with sets of steel numbers, indicating the respective rooms. Harry groaned as they passed the door with the number '1' hung on the top center.

Minutes that seemed like eternity passed as they walked down the long corridor that was so endlessly straight, so endlessly white. No splotch of color touched the walls, no picture, no portrait…not even a shadow. _No wonder they need so many rooms_, Harry thought heavily, _who could ever even visit a place like this and stay sane?_

"742" Malfoy said suddenly, reigning the group to a halt. "That's the room she said, right?"

"Thank Merlin!" Hermione breathed, pushing past the two and reaching for the door. She leaned against it, pressing her ear into the firm wood. She knocked once, softly, then twice. "Ron!" she called in a loud whisper. Her voice echoed down the hall, only to be swallowed by the abyss.

Harry's heart clenched as he saw the door handle twist, and he instinctively moved towards Malfoy. The door creaked open to reveal a red faced, puffy eyed, Ronald Weasley.

He looked down at his girlfriend, looking absolutely grief stricken.

"Any improvement?" Hermione asked quietly, obviously trying to cover the weakness in her voice.

"None. They don't know what's wrong with her." Blue eyes traveled past Hermione to gaze upon Harry. A long moment passed, strained by things that had been said, and things that were simply understood. "Harry," the redhead gave a heavy sigh as he moved past Hermione to stand before the other boy. Harry could see that he was trembling in an effort to fight back the tears that were welling up in his eyes. And in a moment Harry was holding him, embracing the closest thing to a brother he had ever known.

Ron gripped Harry's back, wet tears staining the collar of Harry's shirt. "It's going to be all right…she's going to be all right." Harry attempted to sound soothing. He didn't think it came across very well.

"Harry," the redhead sobbed. "I can't do it. I can't lose another…"

"You won't." Harry insisted. "Just—tell me what happened."

Ron nodded, raising his head from Harry's shoulder. And then he froze, and his face became creased with fury. "Harry," Ron seethed, still half choked with tears, "what's _he_ doing here."

Harry looked to Malfoy and then back to Ron. "Ron, look I—"

"Ron," Hermione interjected, pulling the redhead off of Harry. "Not now. Just tell Harry what happened."

Ron's face remained hardened, but he managed to peel his wet glare from Malfoy. "It was early this morning, around 2AM we think. I woke up with this horrible tingling all over my body, you know, like the feeling you get when your hairs stand on end.

"George was in the room with me…it woke him up too. And then we heard a scream come from Ginny's room, followed by an explosion. George and me threw ourselves out of bed and ran upstairs. We didn't have to open the door…there was nothing left to open. Half her room was demolished. There was broken wood and glass everywhere, and Ginny…Ginny was just there, right in the middle of it all."

Ron might not have noticed, but his voice has started to shake. "She was sitting in the middle of the room, her face all… blank with an eerie sort of calm. She was covered in blood and smeared black, but we couldn't find a single thing wrong with her. We shouted at her, screamed, and asked her what had happened…if she was ok. She didn't answer us. She only said one thing…" Ron trailed off, looking as if there weren't a glimmer of hope in all the world.

"What did she say?" Harry asked, dreading the answer that Ron might give.

Ron looked at Malfoy, looking more broken than Harry had ever seen him. "Malfoy," the redhead said, his voice condemning.

Harry's lips pursed. "What? Ron don't start this now—"

"No!" Ron snapped with enough ferocity to stay Harry's words. "I'm not talking to him or about him. She said his _name_. She said 'Malfoy'."

Harry stilled, watching as Ron attempted to subdue the malice flashing in his eyes. "Ron," Harry smiled awkwardly, "you can't possibly think—"

"What did you do to my sister?" The air trembled.

Malfoy's eyes grazed Ron's expression and he merely smirked, as if the situation amused him. "What do you want me to say, Weasley?" the blonde leaned against the wall with an air of perfect ease. "That I came to your house by night and attempted to kill your sister? Would it wipe away the guilt you feel about wanting to kill me?"

"Oh believe me," Ron hissed, "guilt's not the thing holding me back."

"So it _is_ only your cowardice then?" the Slytherin totted, clucking his tongue and shaking his head disdainfully.

Ron flared like a wild flame, and Harry threw himself between the two boys. "Ron please! Now's not the time!"

The redhead glared down at his friend, his eyes screaming betrayal. "Why don't you scold _him_ every once and a while?"

Harry stepped forward imploringly. "Because," he lowered his voice so that only Ron would hear, "you're the bigger man here, Ron. Don't let him get the best of you. You're better than that."

Ron's face quirked. "Damn straight I am."

"And Malfoy!" Harry abashed, spinning on the blonde. "Stop being an insufferable ass."

"Why, Potter!" Malfoy sounded aghast. "How can you ask me to deny my inner self?"

"Malfoy!" Harry roared.

The blonde raised his hands in surrender. "All right! All right. I'm sure Weasley has a much more viable reason for not killing me." Malfoy dropped his voice, "Though if you ask me you're giving him way too much credit."

Harry gave the other boy a sharp look before turning back to Ron. He looked up at the boy who had been his best friend for over seven years, and felt a sudden swell of warmth. If he knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was that Ron would remain his friend for the rest of his life no matter what obstacle stood in their way…and that included a stubborn bastard like Malfoy. "Can we see her?"

Ron nodded solemnly. "Yeah. She's asleep now. Hasn't woken up since she got here, actually." He turned away to face the white door, and opened it slowly.

The four filed into the room, and Harry let loose a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The room was small and square, and every bit as white as the hall. There were no windows, no chairs, no tables, only a bed and a small girl tucked neatly under crisp linens.

"Ginny." Harry murmured, running to the bed. It was so impossible for her to be lying there. The Ginny he knew was beautiful, fierce, and untouchable…where was she now? Surely this girl that lay here now could not be the same.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Where's everyone else?"

"With the mediwizards," Hermione explained, choking on her own voice. "They haven't even looked at Ginny yet. Ron," she tugged at her boyfriend's arm, "we should go find your parents. Let Harry be alone with her for a while."

"It's not Harry I'm worried about." Ron's dark stare was fixed on the blonde.

Malfoy's signature sneer was now firmly set on his pointed face. "What is it, Weasley? Afraid Potter can't handle me without you here? Don't flatter yourself."

"Why you—"

Hermione's face creased. "Ron, come on!"

Harry turned towards his friends, his face set in determination. "I'll take care of her, Ron."

Ron and Harry held each other's gaze, each taking a sort of reassurance in the presence of the other. The redhead nodded reluctantly, allowing himself to be pulled out the door by Hermione. With a soft click of metal they were gone, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone with the sleeping girl.

Harry turned back towards Ginny, and kneeled down next to the bed. She was so pale she seemed to fade into the room, and he could see that her chest rose and fell more rapidly than it should.

"Her hair looks darker than it was."

Harry jolted. In his reverie he hadn't realized that the Malfoy had walked up on him. The blonde was at his side, peering down at Ginny with a look akin to interest. Malfoy extended his arm, as if to touch her, but Harry caught him by the wrist.

Malfoy's stare held daggers. "Care to let go of me, Potter?"

"Ron wouldn't like it."

The blonde snickered, whipping his wrist away. "Oh, well if Weasley _won't like it_…"

"Where were you this morning, before we met at the park?" Harry's jaw tensed. "You were early. Why?"

"Potter," Malfoy replied archly, looking away, "don't tell me you're asking me this question."

Harry looked down at Ginny, and his heart contracted. "I just need to know. I'm not saying that I think it was you; I just…I just need be sure."

"Yeah well, I didn't do anything to her." Malfoy walked to the other side of the bed, his steps marked with heated offence. "Satisfied?"

Harry gave a silent sigh of relief. "Malfoy, I didn't mean anything by it, really. But, thank you."

"Whatever, Potter," there was a bite in the blonde's voice that stabbed at Harry's gut.

He turned his attention back to Ginny, hoping that Malfoy would somehow understand why he had asked. Harry knew better than most that trust should not be easily given, especially in times like these. Yet he was always the first to vouch for those no one else believed in, simply because he had this somewhat idiotic belief that man was innately good.

It was people like Ginny who kept that belief burning within him when people like Voldemort dampened his hopes. There was so much evil in the world. It was all around them, hanging like a veil of shadows. But when he looked at her, the world wasn't such a dark place anymore. So, "What happened to you?" he whispered, barely realizing he had spoken aloud.

The silence was pointed and deafening, in its own way. "Have you ever read the book," Malfoy's voice was carefully controlled, "The Catcher in the Rye?"

Harry's eyes didn't leave Ginny. "No."

Malfoy paused, his grey gaze sweeping over the room. "It was written by an American squib named J. D. Salinger. I don't know why I read it really. Pansy gave it to me for Christmas first year, simply because I don't think she knew what else to get me.

"It sat in the bottom of my trunk for—Merlin how long was it—four or five years before I actually picked it up."

"What's any of this got to do with Ginny?" Harry asked somberly.

"Maybe if you would be patient you would find out." Malfoy snapped. Harry's bowed his head in attempt to hide the color of his embarrassment. "The book is about a boy," Malfoy continued softly. "A boy who can't handle the fact that this world is an evil place. He's about the age we are now, so don't go on thinking he's just some ignorant kid because then the story wouldn't mean anything.

"In the book he has this vision—a dream of sorts—about children playing in a field of rye. In his dream, the field is on the edge of a cliff, and his job is to catch the children who are about to fall off, hence the title. You see, to him, falling off that cliff means that you are no longer a child. Falling off the cliff means that you have to accept the evil that will always exist in this world. Falling off the cliff is losing your innocence."

Harry could feel Malfoy's gaze upon him, scrutinizing every movement, every reaction. "Everyone loses their innocence at some point, Potter; some sooner than others. Everyone has to take that leap. Some can handle it, some can't, and the people who can't eventually destroy themselves trying to keep their hope alive. The boy in the book couldn't handle it…he didn't want to fall."

"Ginny's not like him."

"Then why is she in that bed?" Malfoy's tone was hard and unforgiving, and Harry found himself biting his lip to keep it from quivering.

"You don't know anything about her."

"That may be," Malfoy kneeled down so that his gaze was level with Harry's, "but I do know one thing. She's seen horrible things—more than most people do in a lifetime. But she wasn't prepared for them, Potter. I saw her when we were kids. I saw the way she looked at you with that fragile hope in her eyes that should've never been allowed to grow. She thought you save her. She thought that as long as you were around, this war would never touch her." Something in Malfoy's voice made Harry look up—something that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. "And then all those people died—her _brother_ died—and everything changed. I saw it happen, as clearly as I see you here now."

Harry's chest heaved in effort to rein his emotions. "But, Ginny—I can't just…"

"You have to let them fall, Potter. You can't catch them all. Some can handle it, some can't—"

"I won't except that!" Harry flared.

"Then you'll destroy yourself with her!"

"So what are you saying? That I should just forget about her?"

Malfoy's steel eyes softened with something very different than sorrow. "You love her, don't you."

Harry's mouth opened, the word 'yes' already formed in his mind, but for some reason no sound came from his throat. He simply sat there, his mouth gaping on the brink of a word he couldn't bring himself to say. "I—" Harry struggled, "if things would have been different…"

"If Voldemort had never been?" Harry could see that the blonde had trouble saying the name.

The Gryffindor nodded blandly, reaching forward to clasp Ginny's hand in his own.

"She was your girlfriend for a while, wasn't she?" Malfoy asked. "Back in sixth year?"

"I'm surprised you noticed."

The blonde chuckled. "Yeah, well, if it was about you I _made_ the time to notice." Malfoy's lips curled into and impish grin and Harry felt his cheeks flame. He didn't know why though—it hadn't been meant as a compliment.

The Slytherin's smile faded. He guided his hand through his sliver blonde locks, pulling them away from his face. "What happened?"

What happened? Harry didn't quite know himself. It all seemed like one giant blur now. "Well, if you had a worst enemy who wanted to turn you nothing more than a charred crispy piece of toast, and he knew you had a girlfriend, what do you think he'd do?" Harry's smile was solemn. "I didn't want her in any more danger than necessary."

Draco glanced up thoughtfully, "I don't know," he stroked his chin mockingly. "I didn't go after her."

"Maybe you didn't hate me as much as you thought."

"Or maybe, when it comes down to it, I just don't like my toast burnt."

Harry laughed, enjoying the brief freedom the feeling gave him. "That could be too."

The blonde waved him off, "You shouldn't have worried anyway. It was so obvious that you were going to beat him."

"What?" Harry goggled.

"There's an invariable rule in men's battles. It states: 'The ugly red-eyed snake man can never beat the intelligent, slender, popular, and handsome hero.' You-Know-Who's death was sealed the second he appeared with that ugly face."

Harry raised a brow. "I hardly think 'intelligent, slender, popular, handsome hero' describes me."

"I know!" the blonde agreed enthusiastically. "Which is why I never understood why I couldn't beat you in Quidditch. I mean, I'm clearly fit the hero persona much better than you do. I mean look at me," Malfoy tossed his hair dramatically. "I'm gorgeous!"

Harry snorted skeptically. "Too bad you're too much of an ass for anyone to notice."

"Don't be a jealous git, Potter, you know you think I'm beautiful."

"I don't swing for ferrets thank you very much."

"That's not what you said last week." Malfoy smirked, playful suggestion lighting his face.

Harry didn't know how red his face could get—he'd never exactly checked a mirror when he got embarrassed—but he imagined his skin closely resembled the color of Ron's hair.

His hand tightened around Ginny's as Malfoy stood to lean across the bed. "The 'Gryffindor Golden Boy' is blushing," the blonde tilted his head, grinning. "How cute."

Harry stilled, his nerves practically vibrating at the other boy's closeness. "I'm not." he replied childishly. "And you shouldn't say things like that."

Malfoy didn't move back. "Why not?"

"People will," Harry stuttered, "people will—well, they'll have ideas!"

"Ideas? Merlin forbid someone gets one of those."

"Malfoy!" Harry shot forward, hoping his charge would make the blonde back off. It didn't. They were a barely a breath apart now, and Harry felt his heart flutter so violently it hurt. His hand slipped out of Ginny's. "We said that night didn't mean anything."

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment; his head moving ever so slightly so that Harry could feel the blonde's hot breath mingle with his own. What was going on? Why wasn't he moving back? He _really_ should move back.

"We did say that," the Slytherin smiled guardedly, his eyes flickering down for the briefest of moments, "didn't we."

Harry felt dizzy, as if his lungs weren't getting enough air. His stomach churned, his heart pounded fiercely in his chest, and he felt as if his body might go into shock at any given moment. _It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything. It didn't. Mean. Anything!_ And then a noise—a soft mewling and a stir of cloth.

Both boys jumped and looked down simultaneously to see Ginny, staring up at them with wide dark eyes.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

**Thanks to all my reviewers!**


	12. Conflicted

**A/N**: Hey look! I updated! :D Thanks to everyone who reviewed/alerted/faved! And of course many thanks to **AElfric's Cat**! This chapter was so fun to write...

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_I've given up on giving up slowly._

_I'm blending in so you won't even know me, apart from this whole world that shares my fate._

_This one last bullet you mention, is my one last shot at redemption_

_Because I know to live you must give your life away._

_And I've been housing all this doubt and insecurity._

_And I've been locked inside this house, all the while you hold the key._

_And I've been dying to get out, and that might be the death of me._

_And even though, there's no way in knowing where to go, I promise I'm going because,_

_I gotta get outta here_

_I'm stuck inside this rut that I fell into by mistake._

_I gotta get outta here_

_And I'm begging you, I'm begging you, I'm begging you to be my escape._

-Relient K

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

The room was deafening. All the Weasleys, Hermione, plus two mediwizards were crammed together in the small white room, all attempting to talk over each other in order to be heard. Needless to say, there wasn't much room left for Harry and Malfoy in the midst of all the chaos.

Apparently the room had been charmed to send off some sort of alarm whenever Ginny regained consciousness, for within seconds of her awaking, people were pushing their way into the tiny room. George, Percy, and Charlie were busy mixing potions at the direction of Bill and a tall mediwizard who had a beakish nose that nearly rivaled Snape's. Mr. Weasley was in the process of telling off the other mediwizard for his negligence, while Mrs. Weasley just sat at Ginny's side, sobbing and stoking her daughter's hair. Ginny's waking had caused quite the ruckus indeed.

Harry had immediately distanced himself from Malfoy the moment the door had opened, feeling as though he had just been caught doing something wrong, like stealing a quill from a Professor…or challenging Hagrid to a game of wizards chess. He didn't know exactly _why_ he felt that way. He hadn't done anything wrong. But the sickened look Ginny had given him—Harry swallowed against the hard lump in his throat.

"Potter," Malfoy groaned crossly, "there's a bit too much red in this room for my taste. I'm not a bull you know."

The dark haired boy turned to give Malfoy a heated look, not much in the mood for another one of the Slytherin's outbursts. "I thought we agreed that you weren't going to be an insufferable ass."

"Oh we never agreed," Malfoy said, sending Harry an arrogant smirk. "I remember. Not about that. You gave me an order, which I may choose at my own disposal to obey."

Harry gazed at Ron and Hermione, who were currently attempting to soothe Ginny as the mediwizards muttered their strange spells across her bed. "I know you may not know this, seeing as you're a Slytherin and all, but friendships don't exactly work that way."

"Oh?" Malfoy scoffed. "So I'm just supposed to obey your every whim then? I'm not really the submissive type, Potter."

"It's not about obeying, Malfoy," Harry hissed. "It's about mutual respect. You don't have to insist on insulting my friends every waking moment."

"Well then, how do you possibly expect me to entertain myself?"

Harry crossed his arms tightly and turned away. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Malfoy laughed and hummed thoughtfully. "You know, when most people say I'm 'impossible', the word is usually an adverb, and it's normally followed by a synonym for 'unbearably sexy'."

"I think 'unbearable' is the only word I agree with in that sentence," Harry returned irately.

"Hey, _you're_ the one who asked me to come here, remember?"

Harry's mouth opened to reply, only to find that he had nothing to say. The blonde was right, after all.

"So," the Slytherin said, "if you don't mind, and it doesn't appear that you do, I'll be leaving now. Father's probably wondering where I am anyway." His voice was tainted with a hint of something dark.

Harry's mind gave a violent spin at the mentioning of Lucius Malfoy. Unbidden images of his latest dream flashed through his mind's eye, bringing with them an insuppressible shudder. How many scars stained Draco's body because of Lucius' hand—how many more because of other hands Lucius refused to stop? Oh, what Harry wouldn't give to have Lucius Malfoy sent to Azkaban.

It was his fault Ginny had been possessed by Tom Riddle. It was his fault that so many of his friends were dead. It was _his_ fault that Draco didn't know what it was like to be loved. McGonagall had told Harry that Lucius was harmless now that Voldemort was gone; that exile from the wizarding community was punishment enough for his clandestine deeds. Harry had disagreed then…and he still did now.

Malfoy began to weave his way toward the door, and his hand was already wrapped around the silver knob by the time Harry caught him—grabbing his arm with a tight anxiousness he had not meant to express. The blonde turned. "What is it, Potter?"

"You're okay, right?" Harry asked, feeling his annoyance with Malfoy's stubbornness melt away into worry.

Malfoy raised a pale brow. "What nonsense are you going off about this time?"

"Your father," Harry said, as if it was obvious. "He hasn't—you know—done anything to you again…right?"

Grey eyes moved across Harry's face searchingly. "He's my father. He only does what he thinks is best for me."

Harry made a face that clearly expressed his disbelief. "Is he still out of town? You said before that he was out of town."

"I'll see you next week, Potter," Malfoy glanced back at the Weasleys, his gaze lingering on Ginny, and within a moment, he was gone.

Harry turned, his chest feeling suddenly heavy, as if he were lying under a pile of weights. He made his way towards Ginny's bed, feeling oddly separated from all the noise.

Upon seeing Malfoy leave, Ron rose from Ginny's bedside and walked over to him, his freckled face pale with exhaustion. "Harry?" the redhead questioned. "You all right? You look kind of pale."

"Fine." Harry forced a smile. "How's Ginny?"

Ron ran a broad hand through his hair. "The mediwizards say they can't find anything wrong…not physically at least. And they can't seem to find any sort of trace of magic on her showing that she might've been attacked." Ron sighed. "Hell, they don't even know where the blood came from—bunch of useless bastards," he finished in a mutter.

"Arthur, I want her home!" Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice broke over the commotion.

Harry and Ron craned their necks to look back at the source of the sudden burst of volume. Mrs. Weasley was still huddled over her daughter, her eyes red and blotched from crying. Mr. Weasley stood over his wife, still in his pajamas and nightcap, looking deeply vulnerable. "Molly, her room is absolutely destroyed. I'm not even sure if the Burrow is safe—"

"We have other rooms!" Mrs. Weasley returned, her eyes flashing. "She can stay in ours!"

"But, Molly—"

"Don't you fight me on this, Arthur! Don't you dare!" The room stilled and quieted, and Mrs. Weasley's eyes bulged as they overflowed with fresh tears. She raised a quivering hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, Arthur," her voice trembled, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, I just…"

Mr. Weasley encircled his wife in his arms, cooing gentle words into her ear until she finally calmed from her fit. "We'll take her home, Molly," he reassured. "She'll be fine."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Harry had spent almost every evening at the Weasley's that week, at Mrs. Weasley's insistence. It wasn't that he minded being there, for Ginny's sake and all, but something about the whole situation had his nerves on edge.

Ever since the 'attack', the Burrow had been buzzing with Aurors and other Ministry officials, all of which could find no rhyme or reason why Ginny Weasley's room had burst into a pile of splinters. The Weasleys had not taken this news well. Every time Harry entered the house he could feel the tension tighten the air, like a pulled spring ready to snap.

Mrs. Weasley was especially affected, and had taken to offhandedly snapping at the family—at George for his messiness, at Charlie for his unique (and admittedly annoying) sleeping habits, and at the rest for a myriad of other reasons. The only one who seemed wholly unbothered by the change was Ginny. Indeed, she seemed more oblivious than ever.

But at least she was talking now…to Harry at least. From the moment Harry entered the house every afternoon till the moment he left, Ginny was practically attached to his hip. She would follow him around for no real reason, as if she felt the need to be his shadow, and Harry entertained her as best as he could.

He tried to talk about normal things: Quidditch, her studies, favorite books, and other such mindless dribble. She responded to all of his questions, smiling and laughing freely, but it was different somehow—almost…forced.

They sat alone together now, in the dimming light of Ron's bedroom, their hands clasped between them. Ginny was talking to him about some new professor that would be teaching at Hogwarts the following year, but Harry had a hard time focusing on her words. It was Friday, and his mind was elsewhere.

Ron's words kept rattling in his mind, echoing repeatedly like a scratched record; _She said 'Malfoy'_. He batted the words away, remembering that Malfoy had told him very clearly that he had done nothing. And Harry trusted Malfoy…to an extent at least. But the more he thought about it, the more he questioned. Why had Malfoy been so early to their meetings? And why had he been in such a foul mood on both occasions?

Guilt threaded Harry's words as he interrupted her. "Ginny, can I ask you a question?"

Ginny paused only to broaden her smile. "Of course you can, Harry. What a silly thing to ask."

"Last Saturday morning," Harry felt himself fumble for words, "you said—well Ron said you said—Malfoy's name…after the attack" Harry slowed, searching for any change in expression in her bright freckled face. "What did you mean by it?"

Harry felt his heart sink as Ginny's smile withered. "Oh, Harry," she said anxiously, "I meant to tell you, I really did!"

"Tell me what?" Harry asked, though some part of him didn't really want to know.

She leaned in towards him, her eyes large and dark as a moonless night. They glimmered with restrained feeling. "He comes sometimes," she whispered, and Harry felt a cold chill take hold of him, "to watch me at my window…like he's spying on me or something."

Harry didn't dare breathe. "Who?"

"Malfoy." Ginny glanced around, as if to make sure they were the only two in the room.

"_Draco_ Malfoy?" Harry exacted, finding that the name sounded strangely foreign on his tongue.

The redhead nodded. "Oh, Harry, I wanted to tell you, but I was so scared!" Her grip on his hands had become painfully tight. "He told me horrid things would happen if I mentioned a word of it to anyone. He told me he would kill me. And last Saturday…he tried to."

Harry's breath had become labored. "That's not possible. He told me he didn't do anything. There must be some mistake—"

"Are you calling me a liar?" she snapped her hands back, her dark eyes flashing with sudden anger.

"No! Maybe you're just confused or—"

"I know what I saw, Harry!"

"Ginny," he insisted fervently, "I know you've been through a lot…and maybe its easier to blame things on Malfoy but—" He was cut off as Ginny's hand whipped across his face with enough force to make him fall to the side. Harry's hand went to his cheek, as if to make sure the hot sting was actually there.

"How dare you!" she cried, rising to her knees so that she towered above him. "How dare you defend him to me! He tried to kill me and you don't even care!"

Harry kept very still, overly aware of the waves of anger and magic pulsing through the air between them. "Of course I care, Ginny," he said gently.

"You used to love me!"

"I still do!" Harry rose slowly, so that they were at eye level. There was something frighteningly forceful in her stare; something that made Harry's heart quiver. His hands slid down and his fingers interlaced with hers.

"You have an awfully bad way of showing it."

"I know," he leaned his forehead against hers, trying to keep his movements soft. "I'm sorry."

Ginny gave him a demanding look. "Tell me you love me."

Harry froze at the unexpected command. "I—er—Ginny you know I—I mean I don't see why I have to say—" and then she was kissing him.

Harry made a noise somewhere in between choking and surprise when he finally realized what was happening. Struggling to ignore the tightness in his throat, he leaned into her, trying to enjoy the coolness of her mouth against his. She was comfortable and warm and familiar against him. She still felt the same, she still tasted the same…she was still the Ginny he had yearned for his entire adolescence. So why was it, that all he could think about…was how different her mouth felt from Draco's?

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Harry left the Burrow that evening with a muddled mind and a tingling in his skin that had little to do with the fact that Ginny had snogged him half senseless. His mind was racing. Who was he supposed to believe? It shouldn't even be a question. By default he should believe Ginny. What motive would she have had for lying? But then, what motive did Malfoy have for attacking her? To get at him maybe?

Harry dug the heel of his hand into his forehead. He had to know. Now. With a sudden rise of determination, Harry hurried onward, putting as much distance between himself and the Burrow as possible. He needed to make sure that he wasn't seen.

The night was hot, causing Harry's shirt to stick to the perspiration that had already settled on his chest. Harry pushed himself into a run, finding some release in the pain caused by the heavy air in his lungs and the burn in his legs.

He finally reached a nice clearing, tucked discretely between the rise of two hills. Harry grabbed his wand from his jeans pocket, holding the long wooden instrument firmly in his hand all the while trying to calm his riled state. Harry closed his eyes and raised his wand, trying to get a clear image in his head. He fumbled through the fog of his mind for a picture, fearing for a suspended moment that he might have forgotten. And then he saw it; the tall black spires, the rich smoothed slate, the haze of grand gardens. Destination. Determination. Deliberation. There was a violent jerking at Harry's chest, and all too soon he felt himself get sucked forward into oblivion.

Harry felt himself spinning as he was hurtled forward, his ears humming with sound of rushing air. With a sounding pop, Harry was thrown forward. He felt his legs buckle and give as he hit hard ground. He fell to his hands and knees, hissing in pain as they scraped against the gravel on the ground. And then the world went silent.

Harry opened his eyes, allowing his breathing to slow. _I really need to get a new broom_, he thought as he pushed himself to his feet.

His eyes were immediately drawn up to the dark building before him. A brilliant moon brought out its eerie silhouette, and made the fog that covered the ground glow like ethereal clouds floating across a black abyss. It had only been a few months since he'd been here, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Harry couldn't help but think about how perfect it had been for Voldemort's main headquarters—darkness and gloom seemed to hang around the place like a cloak. Malfoy Manor.

Now he only needed to get in. Harry gazed up at the wrought iron gate as if it were the only obstacle between him and the ultimate meaning of life. He moved forward, reaching out to grab for the gate. And then a flash of blue, a piercing pain, and Harry was hurled backwards, feeling as if he had just been struck by lightning.

Harry groaned in pain as he lay on his back, finding that he was unable to move his body more than a fraction of an inch. He thumped his head against the gravel repeatedly, willing the pain from his searing limbs. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should've known that the manor would have protective wards. Great, well this was rather pointless. And knowing my luck, a pack of hellhounds will round the corner and come eat me alive. _

A strange sound perked Harry out of his reverie, the sound of grinding metal, followed by the crunching of footsteps on gravel. "Potter!" came a snappish whisper. "What the hell are you doing here? Do you realize what time it is?"

Harry craned his neck as best he could, only to catch a glimpse of an infuriated Draco Malfoy stalking towards him, his silver robe billowing in the wind. Judging from his expression, Harry would've probably preferred the hellhounds. At least they would've been quick. Harry allowed his head to plop back to the ground. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Potter," Draco's face appeared above him, edged with the white light of the moon, "if the act is idiotic and borderline suicidal, I've come to automatically assume you're involved."

Harry frowned. "I'm not idiotic and suicidal."

The blonde bent down to sit on his heels and cocked his head. "Take a moment to examine the position you're in right now, and how you got there." There was a long moment of silence, during which Draco's face lifted into a triumphant smile. "Still think you're not idiotic and suicidal?"

The Gryffindor's face contorted. "I prefer to think of myself as extremely accident prone."

"Call it what you will, Potter. Either way you're still laying paralyzed on the ground."

"Then let me up!"

Draco hovered over him, looking as gleeful as a cat that had just come upon a trapped mouse. "No. I think I prefer you like this."

"Malfoy, I'm being serious here!" Harry's voice rose in frustration. "I came here to talk to you."

"About something that can't wait," he glanced down at his watch, "four more hours?"

"Obviously! Why in the world would I be here otherwise?"

"I don't know," Draco simpered, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "Maybe you missed me terribly and came to the sudden realization that you couldn't possibly remain out of my presence for a moment longer. I have that effect on people."

"Did I mention that I'm being serious?"

"I am too! I have stalkers, Potter. And I'll have you know they're quite creepy sometimes. Longbottom was especially pervy, which I would've never guessed from him…but then again I guess you never know with those quiet, socially awkward types. Why do you think we have the gate charmed? I mean—"

Harry couldn't hold it in anymore. "Have you been watching Ginny?"

Malfoy sobered abruptly, and his face darkened into a scowl. "What are you talking about?"

Harry struggled against his impossibly tight muscles, which only served to increase his already boiling temper. "She told me that you have been watching her, and that you were the one who attacked her."

"It seems she's quite talkative all of a sudden," the blonde said tightly.

Harry's muscles began to twitch in reaction to the uncomfortable stillness they were being kept in. The gravel was digging painfully into his shoulder blades, the humidity of the night had begun to fog his glasses, and sweat was dripping into his eyes. He couldn't even think of having a normal conversation like this, much less one involving accusations. Giving Draco a pleading look he asked. "Look, just let me up. I can't talk like this."

The blonde pulled his wand from his robes, looking sour. "_Finite Incantatum_," he muttered, and with a flourish of the blonde's wrist Harry felt his muscles relax.

Harry pushed himself up, breathing in shallow labored breaths, and feeling as if he had just run a very long race only to be hit by the Whomping Willow at the very end of it. The dark haired boy stared down at the ground, willing away the black dots that flickered across his vision.

"Potter?" Draco moved somewhere in the corners of Harry's vision.

"You haven't answered my question about Ginny," Harry managed to say, the words grazing over his lips like sandpaper.

There was a short weighted pause. "Maybe we'd better get you inside."

"Malfoy just answer the fucking question!" Harry felt his cheeks heat in both strain and emotion.

"Potter," Harry could hear the reluctance in Draco's voice, "why are you asking me this question when you've already made up your mind about who you're going to believe?"

"What?" Harry was baffled. "What are you talking abou—"

"She's your best friend's sister, Potter." Draco's tone was hard and dark as the night. "And she's your ex-girlfriend for Merlin's sake. Don't try and lure me into your false sense of justice when we both know you've already made up your mind about whose side you're on."

"Oh? So you think I've just come here to accuse you then?" Harry's voice dripped malice.

Draco cast him an incredulous look. "It's the truth isn't it?"

"I can't believe that you would think—" but at that moment Harry cut off. In his frustration he had attempted to get to his feet, only to feel a wave of nausea sweep over him. He immediately fell back, his vision blurring around the edges.

And then Draco's arms were around him. "Potter!" he shouted, and Harry winced at the shrill loudness of his voice. Harry tried to look up at him, but black flickering spots had returned, and he felt a sudden heavy weight on his chest. "Potter this isn't funny! Open your eyes!"

The darkness closed in.

"Potter! Harry, say something!"

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Is it just me or has ff . net document manager been acting strangely lately? Maybe I'm just being a noobasorous :) Hope everyone enjoyed! Pwease review if you liked!

**Thanks to all my reviewers!**


	13. Out of the Frying Pan

**A/N**: Thanks once again everyone who reviewed/alerted/faved. And a special thanks one reviewer named **Missy**-your review was beyond sweet, and I can't tell you how happy it makes me that I'm actually keeping people in character and on point. So, having said that, DON'T FREAK OUT ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS IN THIS CHAPTER...it will be explained (*evil grin*). And of course many thanks to **AElfric's Cat**, who is probably the most brilliant beta a girl could ask for!

Enjoy! P.S. Sorry for any random italics...my computer keeps putting them in.

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Take time to realize_

_That your warmth is crashing down on in._

_Take time to realize that I am on your side._

_Didn't I, didn't I tell you?_

_But I can't spell it out for you._

_No, it's never gonna be that simple._

_No, I can't spell it out for you._

_If you'd just realize what I just realized_

_Then we'd be perfect for each other and we'll never find another._

_Just realize what I just realized_

_We'd never have to wonder if we missed out on each other now._

-Colbie Caillat

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

The world was a blur of light. Harry groaned as consciousness slowly washed over him, bringing with it the feeling that he had just taken a bludger to the stomach. No…make that a hundred bludgers. He scrunched his eyes, willing away the film of red light, and twisted himself further under the sheets…the extremely silky sheets…since when did he have silk sheets? Harry jolted upward, his pulse suddenly racing.

He was sitting in a king sized bed, in what appeared to be an incredibly large bedroom. From what he could see—which wasn't much, considering he didn't have his glasses—there was an obvious tribute to Slytherin colors; greens, blacks, and silvers tastefully caked the furnishings in the room, though the room itself felt nothing like the cold dungeons in Hogwarts. In fact, Harry found the space invitingly warm with all of its cherry woods and large bay windows. He would've more properly appreciated the room had not the sudden urge to retch come over him at that particular moment. Maybe sitting up wasn't such a good idea.

Harry flopped back down on the bed, closing his eyes once more in attempt to keep the room from spinning. _What happened last night_? It was all a vague haze in his mind. He had gone to Malfoy Manor to see Draco. Then he'd been paralyzed by that stupid, cursed gate. And then…he remembered feeling strange, like all of his strength had been sucked out straight through his chest. _Potter! Harry, say something!_ The strained voice echoed in his mind. He remembered warm arms around him and someone shouting his name. Had it been Malfoy? Harry unexpectedly flushed at the thought. _No, _he thought wryly,_ Malfoy doesn't call me by my first name_.

And there was still his concern over Ginny. Draco had never actually come forth with a straight answer to Harry's question. Harry hissed irately, burying his face into one of the many down pillows that lined the headboard, not wanting to think about it any more. Draco couldn't have attacked Ginny. It didn't make any sense. But then again, when did anything in his life ever make sense?

The sharp click of an opening lock sounded through the room. "Potter!" Draco's cheery voice rang as he stepped through the doorway. "You awake yet? It's almost noon and I'm horribly bored."

Harry shook his head, keeping his face buried in the green silken pillow. He distantly felt the bed give as Draco perched himself on its edge.

"Do you still feel sick?"

Harry nodded, refusing to look at the blonde out of sheer embarrassment, and something else he couldn't quite distinguish. His skin began to prickle as he became increasingly aware of Draco's presence on the bed.

"You scared me half to death you know. I thought you were dying or something."

At this, Harry turned to peek up from the pillow. "You were scared?"

Harry couldn't tell what the blonde's expression was—his vision was far too poor—but from the sound of his answer, he could tell that Draco was struggling with his response. "Well, not…scared. Malfoys don't get scared. More like…genuinely surprised by your sudden state of distress."

Harry squinted in annoyance. "Hey, where're my glasses?"

"Oh!" Harry heard Draco fumble through the drawers of the bedside dresser. The blonde extended his hand out to Harry, who took the spectacles with a thankful nod. Harry slipped the cold metal over his nose and gave a relieved sigh as his world once again came into focus.

He looked up at the Slytherin, who was rolling his bottom lip back and forth against his teeth. Harry watched the movement for a long while, with an odd sort of fascination. Harry felt a hot blood pulsate in his cheeks, as the temperature in the room seemed to rise.

"You okay there, Potter?"

"Er, yeah." Harry shook himself. "What happened last night anyway? I feel like shit."

Draco shrugged and furrowed his pale brows. "I don't know. It was quite strange really—it took me hours in the library to figure out what it was.

"I've heard of it happening before though—wizards having a considerable amount of magic forced into their system over a short period of time—their bodies react to the overload by trying to reject not only the magic that was forced into them, but also the magic that already lives within them."

The Slytherin's tone was all calculations and detached recitation. "This, understandably, makes the body physically ill. They call it magic repulsion. But…I didn't think our gate had a spell on it that could do _that_ sort of damage."

"Magic repulsion?" Something about those words had Harry's adrenaline pumping.

"Yeah," Draco looked hesitant. "You…may not be able to use magic for a little while."

"WHAT!?" Harry exploded. _Not use magic_? Harry's blood began to race as his hands fumbled through his jeans in search for his wand. His pocket was pointedly barren. "Where the hell is my wand, Malfoy?"

"Potter, will you just calm down for a second?" Draco moved closer, extending a comforting hand.

"Calm down!" Harry shouted, sounding beyond frantic. "How do you expect me to be calm when you've just told me that I can't use magic anymore?" The room began to spin, and Harry felt his nausea swell up in his throat with renewed vigor.

Draco's eyes widened in sudden understanding, and within the moment, he was rushing Harry to the bathroom. Harry fell to his knees over the toilet and retched violently. Draco kneeled down beside him, running his hand lightly along Harry's back.

Harry almost wished he wouldn't. He didn't want to be soothed. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be able to feel the pain because at least he knew that pain meant he was still alive. Though without magic, he might as well be dead.

Once his stomach was completely empty, Harry crossed his arms over the cool porcelain and buried his face into them. His breathing was heavy and labored, sweat dripping freely down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. "Where's my wand, Malfoy?" Harry's voice was raspy from his sickness.

Draco's hand was still moving; a feather-light touch on Harry's spine. "It's safe, Potter."

"I want it."

"Potter, I know you're not good at it, but try and think for a second," Draco's hand became more firm against his back. "If your body is trying to reject magic, what do you think will happen if you try to use your wand? You'll just make yourself worse. This isn't permanent you know. I'm sure within a couple days—"

"I don't care!" And Harry didn't care. Magic was all there was for him. It was his air. It was his blood. It was his very life.

"Harry."

Harry tensed, his heart leaping into his throat. He lifted his head slowly and turned towards the blonde. Draco's face was pale and sincere, and his large slate eyes gleamed with the closest thing to compassion he had ever seen in the Slytherin…but that wasn't what concerned Harry. What concerned him was the way his stomach had fluttered at the sound of his first name spilling over Draco's lips. What concerned him was the fact that he wanted to know what those lips felt like as they whispered his name.

Harry suddenly felt sick all over again. Why in the world had he thought that? This wasn't like him. Had he really just thought about _kissing Malfoy_?

_You've done it before._ A smiling voice whispered somewhere in the back of his mind. _And you enjoyed it quite thoroughly, didn't you._

_No_! Harry fought. _He kissed me! I couldn't stop him!_

_Couldn't you_?

"Earth to Potter." Draco waved a hand in front of Harry's face, snapping Harry back to attention. "You all right? You looked like you were about to faint again."

Harry choked. "Could I take a shower?" he rasped. He needed to be alone. He needed time to sort through all the junk that was scrambled in his brain.

"Sure." Draco removed his hand from the small of Harry's back, and Harry felt a stinging rush of cold. The blonde rocked back on his heels, scrutinizing the other boy with a calculating gaze. "Do you need any help?"

A myriad of horribly incriminating images flashed through Harry's mind, and it was all he could do to suppress the bile in his throat. "No," he ground out.

Draco rose to his feet gracefully. "So you can stand then?" There was more than a hint of disbelief in his tone.

Harry gritted his teeth and pushed himself up from the toilet. His legs wobbled a bit, but they held firmly enough.

Draco raised a blonde brow. "All right then. The towels are under the cabinets, and I'll fetch you a change of clothes." Grey eyes traveled down Harry's body, and the Gryffindor found himself holding his breath. "You're about a 30 waist right?"

Harry merely nodded, not knowing if he could handle forming words and standing at the same time.

"Thought so. I'll bring them in once you're in the shower, all right?" With a lingering half-smile, Draco turned and trekked off towards the door that led to his bedroom.

He was halfway through the walkway when Harry decided to take a chance on speaking. "Malfoy?" _Did you hurt Ginny? Just ask him. Did you hurt—_

Draco stopped and turned. "Yeah, Potter?"

Harry began to tremble, his question lost as those stormy eyes connected with his own. "Never mind," he said finally, berating himself and silently cursing Draco for looking at him while he was trying to talk.

Draco's brow creased in confusion, but he turned and disappeared through the door in silence.

As soon as the door shut, Harry fell against the counter, dry heaving and shaking like a leaf in the wind. He reached over and flushed the toilet before finally slumping to the ground. What in the world was going on with him? Harry's stomach churned in self-repulsion.

His shirt clung to his dried sweat as he peeled it from his torso. His body felt like lead, and every movement strained his wearied muscles. Not having his wand was the closest thing he could imagine to the torture of a Dementor's kiss; there was a sort of icy void in his chest that made his body heavy with pain.

Not bothering to remove the rest of his clothing, he threw his shirt to the ground and crawled his way over to the slate and glass shower. Using the wall as a support, Harry pushed himself up and clamored through the glass door.

The shower itself was quite large, with dark green stone tiled along the floor and walls, a vaulted ceiling, and a wide showerhead that plumed out from above. Harry gripped the brass knob that jutted out from the wall, and twisted it firmly. A scalding stream of water shot out from the showerhead, encompassing Harry in a veil of steam and water.

It wasn't too long before the glass of the shower was completely fogged and steam billowed out over the top to fill the rest of the bathroom. Harry leaned his forehead against the green slate, enjoying the overly hot water as it slammed down into his neck and back.

His body felt heavy, and his mind sluggish. Everything was so jumbled up he could barely think straight. Who was telling the truth? Every logical thought within him screamed for Ginny's innocence, telling him that Draco was, in fact, undeniably guilty. But something in Harry couldn't even think about accusing Draco to be the culprit. There must be some mistake…some misunderstanding. Why would Draco ever jeopardize himself and his family like that? He had nothing to gain by hurting Ginny…no one had anything to gain by it. But still, it couldn't have just been _anyone_. Who would attack the top eastern corner of the Burrow? No, the attack had been too exact to be considered random. Though Harry couldn't think of why, it was clear that somebody had wanted Ginny Weasley hurt.

Harry closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the hospital. He remembered how small Ginny's hand had felt in his own, and how unbearably fragile she had looked while she slept. And then he remembered Draco standing opposite him and telling him about the book and the boy, and the children falling off the cliff. He remembered how the blonde's face had been etched with sincerity…his face that was all sharpness and sculpted beauty. He remembered how close they had been, and how Draco's breath had felt like a butterfly's caress against his skin. And then he saw something that most definitely had _not_ happened.

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he saw himself leaning forward, his lips brushing against Draco's. There was a loud pounding in his ears as Harry felt his stomach flutter into his throat. He could never forget what it was like to kiss Draco. It was hard, and fierce, and burning. Harry licked his lips, practically tasting the residue of mint and spice. The pounding became louder.

"Potter!"

Harry jumped clear out of his skin, and with a startled yelp and a pained hiss he slipped and fell to the ground. He heard the glass door thunder open, and he turned around to see an enraged Draco stepping into the shower.

"Potter what the hell are you playing at! Not answering when I—ah!" Draco sprung back as the water sprayed him. "What the fuck are you trying to do, Potter, burn yourself to death?" Draco extended a beckoning hand. "Come on, get out."

Harry merely stared at the blonde, unable to repress the thoughts that had just been racing through his mind. His heart was still pounding violently in his chest, and his whole body was racked with aching tremors. What had just happened? Why had he just imagined himself kissing Draco? This was the second time today, and not even an hour had passed since he had woken. He didn't even like boys. He liked women. Scantily clad women. Women with large breasts in tight bathing suits and—okay, so maybe he wasn't _that_ sleazy.

But besides that, Draco definitely didn't like boys. True he had teased Harry a bit with coy looks and drawling innuendos, but that certainly didn't mean that Draco was gay. Right?

"Potter, get your ass up!" Draco snapped irately, stepping into the shower once more.

Not that it mattered if Draco was gay or not. Harry liked Ginny. He loved Ginny. Or at least…he used to. What he didn't like was the way Draco's golden hair clung wetly to his forehead, dripping shimmering beads of water down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. And he definitely didn't like the way his shirt was thin enough to hint at the tones of Draco's skin as it hugged his wet torso. No…Harry didn't like that sight at all.

Draco kneeled down in front of him, wincing at the water's temperature. "Potter?" The blonde leaned over him, supporting himself with one hand on either side of Harry's legs, "You're not going to pass out again are you? Because if you are I sure as hell am not going to let you sleep in my bed all wet like this."

Harry shook his head, for some reason far more concerned with the fact that he was shirtless than what would happen if he got into the blonde's bed without drying off. Draco was too close—far too close. Harry felt trapped; trapped between the cold slate, the hot water, and the boy that tasted like Christmas morning. The boy whose smile was like a cool breeze on a warm day. The boy who—NO! Why was he thinking these things? He could feel his sickness welling up inside him once more. _This must be a side effect of this magic repulsion thing. Maybe it's normal to have perverted thoughts towards your friends. Especially ones as undeniably sexy as Draco Malfoy._ Harry choked as the thought ran through his mind. Malfoy was _not_ sexy!

"Potter!" Draco's hands moved up to cup Harry's cheeks, forcing Harry to look directly into those piercing grey eyes. "Say something!"

"Don't touch me," was all Harry managed to say. He didn't miss the flicker of pain that flashed across Draco's face as he recoiled his hands. Harry's face tingled from where the blonde's hands had been, and something inside him was snapping. "Malfoy you have to get away, something's wrong with me. Something's—"

Draco's pained look immediately dropped. "Why? What's wrong?"

Harry's body had resumed its violent shaking, and he couldn't quite tell whether it was just water or tears that burned down his cheeks. He tried to push the blonde away. "I have to go! I have to go home!"

"Potter, just calm down!" The Slytherin pushed him, none too gently, into the back wall of the shower. "Listen to me—you can't just go gallivanting about when you're sick like this!

Draco's hands were tight on his shoulders, and Harry scratched and clawed at the other boy's wrists in attempt to detach himself. Harry's body was ticking, like a time bomb ready to explode. A force was welling like fire deep within him, flaring out to the brink of Harry's control. "Let go of me, Malfoy! Just leave me alone!" Harry's voice was tight with sobs, "Please, Malfoy!"

"Potter, I'm not going to hurt you!" Draco's gaze became desperate. "You're safe here. Just tell me what's wrong—"

But at that moment Harry's hold snapped. The fire burst and consumed him in a raging heat, and suddenly Harry's hands were gripping the thin cloth of Draco's shirt. With a brutal jerk forward, he brought Draco's face to his. Their lips crashed with bruising force, and in that single moment Harry felt as if his heart would fly from his chest. The water cascaded down in sheets onto tile, sounding loud as drums, and for a flicker of a second, Harry closed his eyes and lost himself in the feeling of Draco's lips against his own.

And then a thin hand was on his chest, and Draco threw himself back. Harry's eyes snapped open to see the other boy staring at him, wide-eyed and bright cheeked.

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco's features fell into an icy mask.

"I—" Harry couldn't breathe for the look on Malfoy's face. What _had_ he just done? "Malfoy—I didn't mean to!" Harry struggled. "I'm sorry, I—"

Draco's face only darkened, and with a glacial glare and a tight jaw, the blonde stood and swept out of the shower, disappearing through the door and into his bedroom.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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Ok so that was fun right? Don't worry though! Harry isn't being as OOC as you may think (lol if that isn't a dead giveaway I don't know what is). Annnnyway! I hope everybody's spring is going well :) Only a couple weeks of school left! YAY!

**If you Review...I'll do a happy dance! :D**


	14. Between Me and You

**A/N**: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews so far and thanks to my lovely beta!

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_You know the lies they always told you_

_And the love you never knew?_

_What's the things they never showed you_

_That swallowed the light from the sun_

_Inside your room?_

_Comin' down the world turned over_

_And angels fall without you there_

_And I go on as you get colder._

_Or are you someone's prayer?_

-Goo Goo Dolls

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Harry sat alone on the hard tile, the bright lighting casting surreal shadows across the floor, and the falling water sounding like muddled thunder in his ears. His chest heaved, as if there wasn't enough air getting into his lungs, while the rest of his body was a crackling fire, radiating heat that had nothing to do with the water's high temperature.

What had he just done? Harry raised a hand to his lips, pressing his fingertips to the tingling skin. It had all happened so quickly. It was as if Harry's body had turned to autopilot the moment Draco had touched him. There had been such a swell, such a rage of emotion, that Harry hadn't been able to hold it back.

His hand traveled up to comb through is hair, pulling at the dark strands and hoping the pain would sharpen his fuddled his mind. He replayed the scene over and over in his head, but no matter how hard Harry tried to figure out what had happened, his mind always came to a standstill at Draco's mouth against his own. Harry's throat tightened as he gagged on the little bile that was left in his stomach.

Draco must be sickened by him. Whatever fragile trust had been built between the two had been shattered, and Harry felt that his heart might follow suit. How could he have done something like that? How could he have kissed Draco Malfoy? _Why_ had he kissed Draco Malfoy?

Harry reached up and turned the brass knob, ending the flow of water. The room was hazed with layers of heavy steam that made the bathroom look like it was filled with thin reams of clouds.

With a cold numbness, the Gryffindor rose to his feet and stumbled out of the shower. He quickly saw the shirt and jeans that had been laid out for him, and his heart gave a violent drop. Without bothering to dry himself, Harry removed his wet bottoms and threw on the fresh dry clothing. Harry inhaled deeply as the shirt traveled over his head, somewhat comforted by the clean smell that was so distinctly Draco.

Once Harry was done changing, and his wet clothing was properly hung over the top of the shower, he stood awkwardly in the center of the room, staring at the door. His head throbbed and his legs wavered in effort to keep himself upright. _I should apologize_, Harry teetered slightly. _Oh, but this would be so much easier if I didn't feel like I was going to throw up again._

Harry slowly walked towards the door. _He's going to hate me, I know he is. Just like he used to_. Harry leaned against the doorframe, his shaking hand hovering just above the doorknob. _Maybe he'll understand that I didn't mean to. I'll just tell him the truth…that the sickness is causing me to have strange thoughts, that_— But Harry never got to think about what else he would have told Draco, for at that moment, the subject of his thoughts flung open the door.

The blonde seemed momentarily startled by Harry's immediate presence, but he collected himself and threw Harry a cool sneer. "Feeling better, Potter?"

"No." Harry's voice was solemn.

Draco's mouth quirked, as if it had become harder to maintain his expression. "Oh," he said simply. "I'm sorry the shower didn't help then. Though it's your own fault that the water so damn hot," Draco finished in a half-mumble, his gaze slowly dropping to the ground.

Harry stared at the other boy—the two were almost exactly the same height and build; tall, with a muscled litheness that made them perfect flyers. Draco was always strong, fluid, and graceful, but now, standing there in the doorway, Harry had never seen him look more fragile.

"Malfoy," Harry started, wanting to step forward but not daring to make the move, "look, about what happened before…I wasn't thinking straight. The sickness it—I didn't mean to ki—to kiss you." Harry stumbled over the words.

Draco held up a hand, effectively silencing the dark haired boy. "Potter," Draco sighed, a strange expression passing over his face "just get back to bed all right? You're sounding more moronic than usual, which is really saying something considering that it's you."

Harry's jaw dropped dumbly. "You mean—you're not mad then?"

"Of course I'm bloody mad!" Draco's head snapped up, his eyes flashing fiercely. "I mean, it's pretty fucking awkward to be kissed by one of your friends when you're not expe—"

The rest of Draco's words were lost on Harry. _Friend. Draco had said friend_! Harry's heart soared with relief, and his entire body lifted as if it was suddenly free of weight.

"Potter!" Draco's angry voice brought Harry back. "Will you wipe that goofy grin off your face and get the hell back into bed!?"

Harry nodded, eager to comply, and swept past the blonde into the bedroom. Maybe everything would be all right after all. Maybe Harry had just made a big deal out of nothing.

Draco turned to follow him, unconsciously brushing Harry's arm with his own. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end, and all of a sudden it was back again; that burning that coiled deep within him like a molten fire. He quickened his pace and leapt into the bed, burying his face into the sheets. Maybe everything wasn't okay after all.

"Potter," Draco gracefully climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged next to Harry. "If you puke on my bed, you know I'll kill you right? And then your little Gryffindor posse will kill me. And then my father will kill them for killing me. So I would say that puking is an overall bad idea."

"I'm not gonna—" Harry started, his head shooting up to look over at the blonde. "Your father? You said he was out of town."

"Did I?" the Slytherin returned coolly.

Harry propped himself up to give Draco a hard glare, the burning in his chest dropping like a stone. "Don't play that game with me, Malfoy."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "He goes out of town a lot these days. He's here now though."

Harry blanched. "Here?" he squeaked. "As in, in this house at this very moment, here?"

"No, Potter, he's in the Munchkin Land version of here," the Slytherin simpered sarcastically. "Of course I mean he's in the house."

"This isn't funny, Malfoy!"

"Was I laughing?"

Harry's pulse quickened. Here he was, in the home of Lucius Malfoy, _completely_ unable to use magic to defend himself, and completely guilty of being Harry Potter. Not to mention he had just kissed the Malfoy heir, which Harry was sure would not blow over too well. What in the world was Draco thinking? "Malfoy I—if he finds out that I'm here—"

Draco waved a pale hand. "You worry too much, Potter. My father never comes to this part of the house. This is my own private wing. He did freak when the alarms went off last night, when you touched the gate, but I managed to convince him that no wizard or witch would be stupid enough to just go up and touch a cursed gate."

"So…you're sure he won't come."

"Yes."

"And he believed you about the gate?"

"Of course he did." He fashioned his lips with a particularly playful smirk. "Luckily enough, he doesn't know you like I do. Otherwise he would've known that there is _one_ wizard stupid enough to march up to Malfoy Manor and touch the front gate."

Harry shook his head, gazing at the other boy with lidded eyes and an impish grin. "Oh, you know me huh?"

"Better than most, I'd wager."

Harry settled himself back down in the silken sheets, his worry easing into a hesitant comfort. "Really now?" He didn't bother to hide the fact that he didn't believe Draco's statement.

"Yes." Draco crossed his arms defensively and up sat a little straighter.

Harry raised a doubtful brow.

"Maybe I don't know the types of things that you think are important," Draco pursed his lips. "But enemies tend to notice things that friends don't."

"I doubt it. Hermione and Ron know everything about me."

"Everything they want to know."

Harry's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, people always assume they know everything about a person, because they know everything they want to know." Draco leaned forward. "But sometimes the most interesting things are the things that nobody wants to know."

An irrepressible chill ran down Harry's spine. "What wouldn't they want to know?"

"Maybe the fact that you should've been a Slytherin."

Harry's heart stopped as memories of his first year flooded back in waves. _You could be great you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. _Did Draco know about what the hat had said? No. It was impossible. Harry shook his head. "The hat chose Gryffindor for me. It wouldn't just put me in a house I didn't belong in."

"I'm not saying you didn't fit in Gryffindor. You obviously found your share of sappy self-righteous friends." Draco moved lay on his stomach, supporting his chin in the heels of his hands. "But you were never like them."

"Well I'm certainly not more like you," Harry defended.

Draco inclined his head, as if he knew something that Harry didn't. "I don't know. For a Gryffindor, you were awfully Slytherin. I mean, you snuck around after hours, broke countless school rules, and hardly ever got caught doing it."

Harry made a face. "And we would've gotten away with a lot more if it weren't for you. And besides," he continued, "Hermione and Ron snuck around and broke just as many school rules as I did, and I hardly think either one of them could be considered Slytherin-like."

"Ah, but you were always the one to instigate said sneaking, weren't you."

Harry gazed up, trying to think of an example to rebut the statement. He couldn't think of one.

"See?" Draco smirked triumphantly. "Granger and Weasley only ever did those things because _you_ wanted them to."

"You make it sound like I was manipulating them or something."

"Didn't you?" The room dimmed as clouds passed over the sun, leaving the bed cast in shadows of black and grey. "Maybe not on purpose. Maybe you didn't even realize you did it. But true Slytherins always find a way to get other people to do what they want."

Harry frowned, not liking where this conversation was headed. He most certainly had not manipulated Hermione and Ron…they were his friends! He would never have made them do anything they didn't want to do. "Hermione and Ron are my best friends," Harry said defensively, his hands fisting the sheets, "and I would never manipulate them. Gryffindors aren't like that."

"No," the blonde said pointedly. "_Gryffindors_ aren't."

"I'm not a Slytherin, Malfoy!"

Draco pursed his lips in an amused smile. "Me thinks thou dost protest too much."

Harry scowled moodily. "Sod off."

"You told the sorting hat not to put you into Slytherin didn't you." It was more of a statement than a question.

Harry's throat tightened and his eyes dropped.

"Why?"

The question was sincere, but more than that, there was an undertone of hurt that marked the blonde's voice.

Harry's mouth opened and closed several times before he finally spoke, "I—The day I met Ron, he told me that there wasn't a witch or wizard gone bad that wasn't out of Slytherin. And…I guess I thought—because of Voldemort and all…"

"That any one of us could be another killer? Another Dark Lord? Did you really think that because we were Slytherins, we were evil?"

"You have to understand," Harry said sheepishly, "to me, Slytherin represented everything Voldemort stood for. It was something for me to hate when I didn't know what else to do with my anger."

Draco sat back up, gazing distantly off at the back wall. They sat like that for a long while, immersed in their own thoughts. "Is that all I was to you?" Draco's voice was barely a whisper. "Just someone to take out your anger on?"

Harry's frown deepened in confusion. "I don't know." Harry didn't know how else to respond. "Was I anything more to you?"

The blonde gave a dark huff of laughter, and Harry shrank back slightly. "You were my obsession, Potter. You were my everything." He turned back to the Gryffindor, his eyes glinting like cold steel. "If I wasn't tormenting you, I was thinking up ways to. My obsession with defeating you consumed me. It became who I was." Harry felt his cheeks redden, and his chest tightened against his pounding heart. "Why do you think I became a seeker? Why do you think I always went out of my way to fight with you?"

"Malfoy…" Harry's throat clenched around his words.

Draco's eyes sharpened abruptly. "What happened in the shower, Potter?"

Harry flinched at the harshness in the other boy's tone. "I don't know, Malfoy." Harry couldn't bring himself to meet Draco's gaze. "You touched me, and something—something inside me snapped."

"Because I touched you?"

"I couldn't control it!"

Draco's jaw became rigid. "You couldn't control _what_, Potter?"

Harry's face heated. He was looking anywhere but at Draco. How could he possibly answer something he didn't even know the answer to himself? Then, out of his peripheral, Harry saw a pale hand reaching towards him. And before he could even think to move, the hand was settled on the small of his neck.

Heat like fire radiated out from Draco's hand and coursed over Harry's body. The dark haired boy began to tremble violently in attempt to restrain the reaction. But his headache was gone, and his body no longer felt heavy and sore. It was as if Draco's hand was the sun spreading light across a darkened abyss. He wanted so badly to lose himself in that touch it nearly drove him mad. Why was this happening to him? He had not felt desire this uncontrollable since the beginning of his relationship with Ginny. But this was different somehow. More…raw. Why was his illness doing this to him? As far as Harry knew, being sick didn't make anyone feel like this.

"You're burning up," Draco said softly, his thumb trailing electricity along Harry's neck.

"Malfoy," Harry's voice was tight with feeling, "you really need to get your hand off me."

The Slytherin withdrew his hand and began to massage it with the other. Harry felt his body sag as Draco's hand left him, and all at once his head began to throb and his stomach churned with nausea. Harry stared up at the other boy, who gazed back at him in equal confusion.

"What does it feel like?"

"What does what feel like?"

Draco's face remained completely straight. "What does it feel like when I touch you?"

Harry's cheeks flamed. "I dunno—like—I get…my whole body gets really hot. And I can't think, and I can't breathe…" Harry trailed off, becoming too embarrassed to continue.

"So it hurts you?"

"No!" Harry sat up so quickly the room kept on moving even after he had stopped. "Quite the opposite. But," he interjected quickly, "it's not like I mean to feel that way. I'm not…a poof or anything."

"You mean you didn't enjoy kissing me?" Draco pouted teasingly, and at that moment Harry found he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and feel Draco's mouth change against his own and—_NO_!

Harry put a hand to his head, willing the world to still. "I think I enjoyed it a bit too much actually." And then a strange dawning came upon Harry—a thought that had never crossed him before. "But you…" Harry twisted his hands awkwardly, "_you_ hated it right?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but immediately snapped it shut. Harry saw it though—the briefest inking of an emotion; a glimmer of softness. Draco always did a superb job at maintaining his frigid control, but Harry had been around him enough to see it slip. Though never quite like it was slipping now.

Pink dusted the blonde's cheekbones, and the hardness in his grey eyes seemed to melt away in a moment of serenity. "Hated it?" the blonde licked his lips, "I don't know if—" then all of a sudden, Draco seemed to realize himself, and something small dropped in Harry's chest. With a shake of his head, the blonde straightened back into his trained icy arrogance. "Of course I hated it, Potter."

Harry smiled solemnly. He didn't know why Draco's answer saddened him. It shouldn't sadden him. If anything, Harry should be happy there wouldn't be confusion between them. But for a second, Harry had thought that maybe…maybe Draco had wanted it just as much as he did. _Not that I actually want it_, Harry abashed. _It's just the fever_.

"You obviously don't have much experience kissing boys."

Harry's heart gave a violent flutter. "What?" he exclaimed breathily.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "I can just tell you don't have much experience with it. Kissing a boy is very different than kissing a girl you know."

"Are you saying that you _do_ know?"

"Of course I know." Draco looked affronted. "I'm surprised you never got in on that bit of juicy Hogwarts gossip. I worked my way around a good portion of our class, and I'm sure you know first hand what prudes girls can be."

Harry gaped. "I can't believe—who…who have you…" the question wouldn't come.

"Slept with?"

Harry nodded, mentally crossing his fingers that Crabbe and Goyle weren't on the list.

The other boy gazed up thoughtfully, poising his fingers and counting silently. "Lets see, in Slytherin there was Parkinson—obviously—Zabini, and Baddock, in Ravenclaw there was Stewart Ackerley and Terry Boot, in Hufflepuff, Susan Bones—who was quite the aggressive little monster let me tell you—and in Gryffindor there was Parvati Patil, Longbottom, Ji—"

"You had sex with Neville Longbottom?"

Draco gave an evil grin, obviously pleased by Harry's shocked state. "We never went that far, but we had a good snog session or two. The poor boy pined after me for years, and I didn't figure it would hurt much to play into his fantasy. I was abhorrently drunk the moment I had that thought, of course."

"But," Harry was at a loss for words, "_Neville_?"

"I told you the boy was pervy, Potter. I can't believe you hadn't heard about it. He followed me around just about everywhere once he got a taste. It was kind of creepy actually."

Harry flopped down onto his back, throwing an arm over his face, feeling that this would be an extraordinarily convenient time to pass out. He could hardly believe it. "You know, there are a lot more boys on that list than girls."

"Yeah, girls got too clingy afterwards—I learned to steer clear after a while." Then something in Draco's voice changed, "Most people are like that with their virginity, I think. But I guess—since I had already lost mine—I just didn't care as much."

Harry's arm slid up to his forehead, and he inclined his head towards the other boy. "Do you regret any of them?"

Draco looked at Harry, with eyes that did not see him, but saw into him. "I never regret anything, Potter. Why bother regretting what you cannot change. I might be sorry for it sometimes. But I don't regret it."

Harry hummed to himself and moved his gaze to the ceiling.

Draco lay down next to him, so close that Harry could feel the other boy's heat radiating out through his robes. The blonde's eyes were hard on the side of Harry's face. "Do you think it's a spell?"

Harry sighed and shifted, attempting to calm his racing pulse, deal with Draco's close proximity, and form words, all at once. "Do I think what's a spell?"

"This thing that makes you feel strange when I touch you. I think maybe our gate—"

Then the sound of sliding metal and creaking hinges rang through the quiet room, and Harry and Draco turned simultaneously to see a livid Lucius Malfoy walking through the doorway.

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**If you enjoyed, you should tell me :) believe me I never mind hearing. Thanks for reading!**


	15. The Promise

**A/N**: Yes everyone, this is the moment you've all been waiting for! Get ready for some hardcore slash times ;) And thanks much to **AElfric's Cat** for making this chapter even more fun!

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Stay low_

_Soft, dark, and dreamless,_

_Far beneath my nightmares and loneliness._

_I hate me,_

_For breathing without you._

_I don't want to feel anymore for you._

-Evanescence

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Harry's eyes bulged and his entire body went rigid as he saw the face of the elder Malfoy. There was a moment where there was nothing but silence—a moment where Harry was sure that life simply did not want him to be happy. He should've known not to believe Draco about his father. What kind of man doesn't go into all the different areas of his house? Lucius wasn't stupid. He must've known that Draco had been lying about the gate. And now, this was it. Lucius was going to see him, curse him, and then, most probably, kill him. _Great. Just when I thought I had rid myself of psychotic degenerates who want to kill me, I come here and_—and then Draco was on top of him, and all coherent thought flew from his mind.

Harry yelped in surprise as the blonde leapt at him, practically slamming his mouth into Harry's. _What in the world_!? Harry moved his hands to Draco's shoulders, intending to push the other boy away, but as soon as Draco's body pressed flush against his own, his hands no longer responded to his commands.

Harry became lost in a sea of bliss, where Draco's mouth was soft like velvet, and there was nothing beyond the darkness of his closed eyes. Draco's lips kneaded against his own, and fingertips like lit matches trailed along the exposed skin at Harry's neck. He didn't bother with being gentle—his touches were firm, and his mouth precise in its movements. Harry quickly discovered there was nothing calm or comforting in the way Draco kissed.

Draco's lips only moved for purpose; they only moved with need. It was if he was pouring himself into Harry, and the Gryffindor could nothing but catch as much as he could. Their mouths parted and Harry moaned as he once again tasted that exquisite flavor. Tongues met and slid against each other with a languid ferocity, and Harry's body rocked feverishly as everything suddenly sharpened, his senses honing in on this one feeling.

Lucius cleared his throat loudly, and all of a sudden Draco's lips were gone. Harry gave a barely audible whimper and attempted to calm his thundering heart and traitorous whispers of electricity that coursed through his blood.

"Father," Draco sounded annoyed, "can't you see that I'm busy here?"

Harry didn't notice how the blonde had carefully positioned himself so that Harry's face would remain unseen, nor did he notice the slight tremor in Draco's hands. All that Harry noticed was how unbelievably milky the skin of Draco's neck looked in the light, and how firmly lithe the other boy's body felt against his own. Heat pooled in Harry's stomach. What was he thinking? But he already knew. It was the same thing that had happened in the shower, only now…it was far beyond his control.

"Draco, I want you in my office in ten minutes." Lucius said in hard glacial tones.

"Ten minutes?" Draco shouted incredulously. "But father, that's hardly enough time to-"

"Ten minutes, Draco!"

Harry heard the door slam and all fell silent except for the pattering sound of labored breathing.

Draco gave a nervous chuckle. "Boy that was a close one eh, Potter? Sorry I jumped on you like that, but I couldn't think of any other way to hide you. Good show though, I think we pulled it off rather well don't you agr—Potter?"

Harry's eyes were still closed, and heat was still coursing through his veins like fire.

"Potter? You all right?"

His hands were still at Draco's shoulders, and he could still feel the warmth of the other boy's skin through the thin cotton.

"You're not going to throw up again are you?"

Harry didn't know—not with Draco's body pressed flush against his own. It was so different from the way Ginny's body felt against him; nothing of soft curves or fluid lines. Everything was sharp and abrupt; every line placed with a hard purpose.

"Harry?" Harry felt a cool slender hand brush his cheek.

Harry grabbed the hand and forced his eyes open. Draco's face was inches above his own; the normally pale complexion was a glowing pink, and a few silvery strands had fallen out of their proper place. He had never taken time to properly appreciate the pronounced beauty of Draco's face before. He didn't know why he had never noticed. Perhaps it was because he had always been so intent on getting one last punch in before they were dragged apart. All those times when they had been so close—it was like not noticing a rose at the end of a thorny stalk.

Harry too was flushed, embarrassed by the situation, yet unable to pull himself away from it. There were no cohesive thoughts running through his mind at this point, only regression and instinct. There was only the molten burning that caused his body to surge with desire, and he couldn't help but shudder as he released a breath.

And then something in Draco's face changed; something that remembered the night of intimacy they had already shared when Harry had seen his dream—something that knew how Harry's body caved with longing at the slightest touch.

"Oh Merlin I've gone and done it now, haven't I?" Draco pushed himself up, which only caused Harry to become more aware of the movement he was craving.

Harry made a guttural noise somewhere in between a whimper and a growl.

"I didn't even think about—I didn't mean to—" Draco made to move once more, and Harry hissed as the blonde's hips slid against his own.

Harry took several deep breaths, attempting to clear his fogged mind. "Malfoy, please," he said too tightly, "you have to get off me now. I don't—I don't know what's happening to me. Whatever this spell is…it's strong."

He vaguely remembered a chapter he had read in his Potions book—it had been one of the few he _had_ actually read—on love potions. _This must be what one's like_, he thought in exasperation, _uncontrollable, raw desire_. But he hadn't taken any potions...none that he was aware of at least. The last time he drank anything was at Grimmauld Place. Was there an equivalent spell? And if so, why would it have been on the Malfoy gate? And why did it _have_ to be Draco Malfoy?

Draco's face became hard and he pressed his mouth into a thin line. "No."

"No what?"

"I'm not going to get off," Draco said in one of his more stubborn childish tones. "I'm not just going to leave you here like this," then Draco smirked, "when you're obviously pining for me so desperately."

Harry glared up at the other boy. "Why you—" but at that moment Draco grinded up against him, reducing Harry to a spattering of mumbles and curses.

"I believe a 'Thank you, Draco, god among men' is in order here. And I give you free reign on embellishing that sentence to further describe the extent of my perfection."

And then, with a laughing smirk, Draco came down upon him once more and captured Harry's lips in a kiss. Perhaps, had Harry's heart not leapt up into his throat, he would've come up with some witty insulting rebuttal, but as it was…he was beyond words. Harry's eyes fluttered shut as he felt Draco smile into the kiss. All control was lost.

Where before Draco had been all ferocity and domination, he was now all playfulness and teasing. He nipped at Harry's bottom lip, allowing his tongue to dance between the parted skin, while smooth hands traveled down Harry's torso and under his shirt.

Harry gasped, breaking the kiss to more completely take in the feeling of Draco's hands against his skin. Harry felt the soft petals that were Draco's lips brush across his cheek, trailing light kisses down his jaw-line and onto his neck. Harry tilted his head to the side, giving the blonde easier access to his exposed throat. His mind felt dizzy and numb. He distantly felt hands sliding further up his shirt; the warm morning air caressing his chest, only to followed by the gentle pressure of a kiss. Harry didn't move, not daring to breathe lest this be some strange wonderful dream that would shatter if touched.

Swift, heated, eager, hungry, wanting; Harry answered Draco, barely aware of his fingers working at the other boy's collar, wanting to feel the damp heat of flesh that was promised beneath. And then Draco's hands were gone from his chest and were suddenly gripping his wrists, pushing his hands away and pinning them to the bed. The blonde blanketed Harry's body with his own, causing Harry to writhe with want.

Draco's mouth moved up to his ear, nipping feverishly at his lobe. "Be still, Harry. This is yours."

And in a sudden change of pace, Harry felt lips and teeth sink into his neck, sending sharp jolts of pleasure down his spine. Draco's hands moved from his wrists to once again roam Harry's skin, and all he could do was concentrate on that feeling, captured in this one painfully beautiful moment.

Draco's hands worked their way down his body, bringing the rush of Harry's blood to the surface the closer they came to his trouser line. Fingers danced like fire along Harry's hips, and he let out a low sound of pleasure, soft and weak. He could feel Draco's lips curling against his neck, and Harry's breath caught in a fevered gasp as the blonde's hand moved down between his legs. Harry's hands dug into the sheets, squeezing them tightly as if they could keep the feeling there.

Draco kissed him again, this time long and deep, slowly running his fingers along Harry's hardness…ever so slowly. Maddening. He would wake up from this wonderful dream any moment now. Any second. Because this couldn't be real. He wasn't supposed to feel like this; so intensely completed by the feeling of Draco's body against his own.

Then Draco's hand changed, wrapping Harry in a lush slick heat that made his hips leave the mattress. Harry's hands tightened, his nails digging into the soft silk. He distantly wondered exactly how many times Draco had done this. How many others had he had beyond those mentioned? Judging by the boldness of the other boy's movements, Harry would've guessed he answer to be a fairly impressive number. But he didn't really care, not now. He couldn't keep a single thought in his head with Draco's hands on him, working an incomparable magic, allowing him to lose himself in the rushing rise of pleasure.

Harry's hips grinded against the other boy's hand, trying to get more of whatever this was. He wanted it all, to experience this while he could, incase it could never happen again. He wanted this as he had never wanted anything else before; stripped to the raw wire of flesh and heat, singing and aching with desire beyond comprehension.

And yet, he didn't want to be so close, didn't want Draco's hands working so intensely between his legs. He wanted this to go on and on, he wanted to feel like this forever, and yet at the same time, it was all he wanted; release; release from everything. He could do nothing but gasp for breath and moan softly as he felt a familiar heat building inside of him, and he fell into it with a cry, letting it take him—he gave himself to it, letting himself drown in the ecstasy.

It was incredible; that fierce ecstatic embrace, their bodies meshed together so intimately, Draco's mouth hot on Harry's neck. Harry had never felt anything like this; this pure unguarded moment.

He had never been able to forget himself before.

And he clung to it as long as he could, but slowly that burning in his veins slipped away, soft and liquid, leaving him drained, heavy, and gasping against the heat of the other boy, listening to that steady heartbeat thumping beneath the thin layers of cloth and skin. "Draco," Harry breathed, the remnants of what had just happened burning like cinders beneath his skin.

Draco's lips trailed across the skin of Harry's neck and back up his ear, and for the first time, Harry realized how badly the other boy was shaking. "I'm sorry for what I did," Draco whispered, sounding strained. "And I promise, I won't touch you again until we figure what this spell is… and how to fix it." And then Draco's body was gone, and Harry wrenched his eyes open, feeling as if his world had just been torn out from beneath him.

The blonde was already off the bed, busy cleaning his hand with a small towel that he must have conjured wandlessly. Harry's heart dropped like lead. Not touch? After what they had just done? The mere thought made his entire body ache. Harry rose feebly, staring at the other boy, noticing the light film of sweat that glistened his face and how his cheeks burned a bit too hotly. "It doesn't have to be like that," Harry said weakly.

Draco did not look at him. "Yes it does." He threw the towel to the floor and it immediately disappeared in a wispy puff of smoke. "I think we both agree when I say we don't want this to happen again."

"But—"

"That's final, Potter." Draco cut through Harry's words. "And I think you should leave. It's not safe for you here anymore."

Harry could only gape, the blonde's words shredding through him.

"Oh, don't give me that look!" Draco gestured, spinning wildly to face him. "This isn't you—this isn't what you want! Trust me, you'll be sickened by it as soon as this spell—or whatever the hell it is—is broken!"

Harry's eyes dropped, a sharp coldness washing over him. "Were you sickened by it?"

Draco froze and his face fell. With a jerk of his chin he straightened. "It doesn't matter."

"How can you kiss somebody like that and it not matter?"

"You did, didn't you?" Draco retorted. "What else do you expect me to think? Especially with this curse? You're the one who said it didn't mean anything before, remember?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Look," Draco dug the heel of his hand into his forehead, "it won't be all that hard. We don't touch that much anyway. We'll just have to be really careful about it. But right now I really think you need to get out of here. My dad's obviously suspicious about something."

"But what about—"

"I'll see you next Saturday all right?" the blonde said, moving back towards the door. "I'll send Binky to escort you off the premises."

"Malfoy—"

"It was nothing, Potter." Draco said, a hard finality marking his voice. And then he was gone.

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*blushes* that wasn't too bad was it? lol I hope not!

**Pwease Review! If you do...maybe upcoming chapters will be even more steamy ;)**


	16. Unwanted

**A/N**: Thanks much for all the great feedback and support from everyone :) Hope everyone likes angst...cuz this chapter is full of it!

**Update**: A good amount of this is currently being reworked/edited.

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_There was a time you'd let me know_

_What's real and going on below,_

_But now you never show it to me do you?_

_Remember when I moved in you?_

_The holy dark was moving too_

_And every breath we drew was hallelujah._

_Maybe there's a God above_

_And all I ever learned from love_

_Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you._

_It's not a cry you can hear at night_

_It's not somebody who's seen the light_

_It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah._

-Rufus Wainwright

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Harry sat alone in the darkness—induced by the curtains Hermione had conjured so long ago—of his bedroom at number twelve Grimmauld Place. Hours upon hours had passed, but he hardly noticed. The only concept of time he had was the dim light of morning that was now pushing its way through the fabric draped over the windows. Had it already been a day? He had allowed himself to be taken from Malfoy Manor with a sort of disconnected countenance. Honestly he hadn't much thought over the act of leaving…mostly because he was too busy replaying the morning in his mind, trying to grasp every detail that had ensued.

Even now a shudder of burning cold overtook him. But the memory sifted through his mind like sand through an hourglass until he could remember nothing but the sheer exhilaration of it all. It raged inside him; flashing brilliance and perfection. And pain. That's all there ever was with Draco. Harry would get so close; so close to seeing that glimmer of humanity in Draco's seemingly frozen heart. It was like watching a butterfly emerge from a cocoon; so fragile and delicate at first, yet so breathtakingly beautiful. But every time—every time Harry gave himself hope to believe something might actually change—Draco jerked it away.

But the way Draco's body felt against his…Harry was wracked with a series of violent tremors. Everything was so messed up now. Why did this have to happen? Just when he and Draco had started to become…comfortable around each other, he had to go and touch that blasted gate! Trust Lucius Malfoy to put a ridiculous curse on his front door.

Harry curled his knees into his chest, burying his face into his arms, unaware of just how violently he was shaking. His head throbbed painfully as he tried to work out what to do next. Should he tell somebody else about what had happened? Ron and Hermione perhaps? Oh but that wouldn't work out…Ron and Hermione were already skeptical about Malfoy as it was. If he told them that he couldn't use magic—if he told them that he was under some spell induced by Malfoy's gate—they would be sure to freak and thenceforth forbid Harry to so much as look at the blonde again. Or worse…they would try and use this spell as an excuse to get Draco thrown into Azkaban.

Harry groaned, feeling for the first time since his years before Hogwarts, horribly and incredibly alone.

_How can you kiss somebody like that and it not matter_? But it hadn't mattered. It hadn't meant anything. It wasn't _supposed_ to mean anything. That's exactly what he had said to Draco before.

Harry attempted to bury himself deeper into his arms. He didn't even notice the slight creak of giving hinges, or the soft scuffling of feet against the dusty wooden floor.

_You're the one who said it didn't mean anything before, remember?_ And it hadn't. It didn't. His head throbbed more painfully.

"Master Potter?" came a low grumble.

_It was nothing, Potter_. Something about those words tore Harry straight through, and all at once he felt overwhelmed—overwhelmed by the horrid reality of it all.

"Master Potter, sir?"

Even if Harry had said it was nothing, he knew now that it was just a selfish lie. Whatever innocent platonic relationship might have formed between he and Draco had been shattered that very first night. Harry saw that now. And no matter how much he wanted to…no matter how fiercely he regretted, nothing could be undone. Whatever illusion Harry had given himself about his relationship with Draco now was fully exposed; shown in all its twisted sickness. There would always be that knowledge that a line had been crossed. There would always be that secret weight of something that was so incredibly wrong yet—

Something tugged sharply at Harry's pant leg. Harry's eyes shot open and he leapt back on the bed with a startled yelp. Kreacher stood at the foot of his bed, looking as wrinkled and grey as ever, yet he was gazing at Harry with an almost…concerned look.

"Master Potter," the house elf said, in a gentler tone than he usually took, "you have some visitors. Would you like me to see them in?"

Harry's heart fluttered, and his entire body ached in protest of his rather sudden movement. "Who is it?" he was unable to hide the hope in his voice.

"Master Ron, and Miss Ginny " he replied, and with a noted drop in politeness he added, "and Miss Hermione."

Harry bit his lip and tried not to let his spirits drop. He gave a rueful inward laugh. _What was I hoping for anyway? That Malfoy would come to see how I was? Bollocks_. "Yeah, go ahead and let them in. Tell them I'm up here."

With a slight bow and a snap of his fingers, Kreacher disappeared. Harry sighed and lay back fully on his bed, closing his eyes and listening to the approaching thud of footsteps. _Malfoy's feet don't thud when he walks_. Harry crinkled his nose, _Not that I care what Malfoy's feet do when he walks, or about the way his hips move when—UGH! Stop! Stop!_ _STOP! Stop thinking about him! I can do that for five minutes, can't I!?_

"Harry?" a brown head of frizz poked around the doorframe.

Harry rose with a weary smile, still batting away thoughts of walking and hips. "'Lo Hermione."

The brunette entered the room tentatively, Harry's weariness echoed on her face. She was closely followed in by Ron, who looked anything but comfortable, and then by Ginny, whose eyes looked glazed, and yet still held a certain sharpness that matched the dark transience that veiled the room.

They stood in front of him, each with a respective look of uneasiness. Harry's brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

Hermione looked at the other two, struggling with something. When her chocolate gaze returned to Harry, he saw the unfamiliar reflection of uncertainty in her eyes. "Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry was mildly baffled by the question. There was no way they knew about the gate incident already. Was there? When in doubt: lie. "Yeah, why?"

"Well," Hermione continued, intertwining her hands, "Ginny said you seemed pretty upset when you left last night." Harry's eyes moved to Ginny. "And when we tried to Floo you, Kreacher said that you hadn't come back home."

Harry and Ginny held each other's gaze; both questioning yet neither willing to answer.

"I was out," he said monotonously, his stare unfaltering. The statement wasn't a lie…but there was no point in being elaborate with the truth.

Ginny's eyes narrowed but her face remained as stone. She stepped forward, challenging him. "Where?"

Both Hermione and Ron were taken aback by Ginny's sudden charge, Harry however held tight to his indifferent poise. _I went to see Malfoy. Just tell them_. But then Ron and Hermione would wonder why he had gone to see Draco in the middle of the night, and Harry was _quite_ sure he didn't want anyone else to know about Ginny's little accusation. And if he happened to let anything slip about the gate…Harry bit his tongue as if it were about to betray him.

But maybe it would be better if they knew. Maybe they could help. Hermione at least, would undoubtedly know something about the curse, or at least have a notion about it. And Ron had always been an irreplaceable source of moral support. But then…what if they thought that Draco was the one who had cursed him? Harry's thoughts immediately drifted back to trials and Azkaban, and a young blonde boy, huddled, cold and broken, in the corner of a dampened stone cell. _Argh_! His mind was just going in circles now!

"Harry?" Ron started forward as well, his cerulean eyes searching, "You all right there, mate? You're shaking."

Harry blinked several times and noticed that he was indeed shaking. He fisted the fabric of Draco's jeans (he hadn't changed out of Draco's clothing yet), willing his muscles to still. "I'm fine, Ron, thanks. Really guys, everything's fine."

"You still haven't answered my question," Ginny said tightly.

"Look, Harry," Ron stepped in front of his sister, "I'm sorry I blew up at you before. Kicking you out of the house was just…well you know me." Harry smiled tenderly up at his friend, who had the humility to look sheepish. "But really…I mean—you have to be over this whole Malfoy thing by now right?"

Harry's face dropped as something struck a tender nerve somewhere deep inside his chest. "What?"

Ron shrugged, and Harry noticed his eyes darken ever so slightly. "You wanted to what he was all about, and you found out right?"

Harry's blanched despite himself. Oh he had found out what Draco was like all right.

"I mean I understand that you were lost and confused after you defeated You-Know-Who and everything, and maybe you thought that you wanted to see how the other half lives or—"

"The other half?" Harry's tone dropped to an almost threatening level.

Ginny took another step toward Harry, now towering over him and looking beyond livid. "You were with _him_, weren't you?"

Harry didn't answer. He merely gazed up at the redhead, his emerald eyes reflecting a glassy defiance. What was she implying? He had gone there for her sake in the first place!

Hermione had started to become fidgety, what with all the tension in the air. "Harry?' she questioned.

"Why would I go to Malfoy's in the middle of the night?" Harry snarled defensively.

Hermione bit her lip, twisting her hands more deliberately.

"Where were you then?" Ginny asked in a raspy hiss.

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet, forcing Ginny back, "What does it matter?" he exploded. "None of you ever cared where I went before!"

Harry didn't miss the wounded expression that ghosted over their faces. Hermione was the first to find her voice. "Harry," she said gently, as if she were trying to calm some wild beast, "we've always cared. You know that. It's just, you've been…off lately. We just don't understand why you're so intent on seeing Malfoy. Please, if you're in trouble then—"

"There's _nothing_ wrong with me!" Harry shouted so forcefully that he felt faint. "And there's nothing wrong with Malfoy either!"

"Harry please, you don't have to shout—"

"Then stop giving me shit about him!" The room had begun to spin, and Harry's head was now throbbing in violent protest of standing. But he couldn't show weakness…not now.

With a dark chuckle, Ron dipped his head and took a step back towards the door. "So that's how it's going to be then?" he said ruefully. "You choose Malfoy? He wins?"

"It's not a fucking competition, Ron," Harry seethed. "You know that."

"No." Ron looked up, and Harry's entire body went rigid as he was swept away in a cobalt sea of fury and pain. "It is. And I've obviously been beat."

"Harry, Ron, stop!" Hermione shrieked, tears welling in her eyes. "This isn't what we came here for!"

"But I have to admit," Ron continued, his voice like the calm before a raging storm, "that I thought we would've meant more to you than that. Tell me, why aren't we enough for you anymore?"

Harry's eyes began to sting, but all he could do was stand, frozen. "It's not like that."

Ron ignored him. "Maybe I've just been selfish in thinking that I've done enough to merit your friendship… or at least your respect. What has he given you that I haven't?" His entire body began to quake with anger. "Tell me _why_ I'm not enough!"

Harry's silence was broken only by the sound of Hermione's stifled sobs.

"Everything is ruined, Harry!" Ron shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "Everything! We were supposed to be happy! Everything was supposed to be better! Well I'm done with it! I'm _done_. I'm leaving, and this time…I'm not coming back." He turned, and was halfway through the doorway before he stopped, his breath showing heavily on his shoulders as they rose and fell. "But if you ever _do_ come to your senses…you know where to find me." And then he was gone.

Harry knew he should be running after him. He knew that he should be bounding down the stairs calling after Ron to explain that it was all a giant misunderstanding. But he didn't. He didn't even move.

In a flurry of tears and raked sobs Hermione dashed after Ron, leaving Harry and Ginny to stare at each other in the thick darkness.

Ginny scowled. "Now look what you've done."

Harry's body violently tightened and then relaxed. His knees buckled and he fell back to the bed. He allowed himself to hunch forward, perching his elbows on his knees. "Yes. It's always my fault isn't it."

"I just can't believe after all I told you that you would—"

"Why do you think I went to see him in the first place?" Harry's gaze was piercing, and he saw her face tremor with shock and realization.

She immediately controlled the expression. "Still, Harry. Why can't you just give him up?"

The dark haired boy's head drooped and fell against his clasped hands. "Because, Ginny… I shouldn't have to." But of course there was more to it than that. There was always more. If it had been as simple as a choice between Ron's friendship and Draco's, of course Harry would've chosen Ron. Ron was his first real friend, while Draco…well, Harry didn't know exactly what Draco was. But things weren't that simple.

The redhead started forward once more. She gazed down at him with hard midnight eyes. "You're going to lose Ron, Harry. You know that don't you? That is, if you haven't lost him already. And for what? Do you even believe me about—"

Raised voices from below cut her off. Harry's head snapped up as he heard a heated exchange of two male voices, and his heart practically sprang into his throat. There was a loud bang, followed by a crash, and then Hermione was yelling too.

Harry and Ginny both sprang towards the door in unison. Harry instinctually fumbled through his pocket for his wand as he bounded down the stairs at Ginny's heels. And then he remembered…his wand was still at Malfoy Manor…and he still couldn't use magic. "Damn fucking curse," he hissed.

Ginny stopped so suddenly Harry nearly crashed into her. She rounded on him, blocking the narrow stairway. "Curse?"

Harry bit his lip, as he heard something shatter and spill to the floor below.

"God dammit, Weasley, will you stop breaking things! If you're going to hex me you could at least try to hit me!"

Harry's breath hitched. He knew that voice.

"Tell me what you've done to him, Malfoy! What've you done to Harry?"

Harry shoved past Ginny and was down the second flight of stairs within seconds. He blinked several times as he entered a cloud of pluming dust. "Ron? Malfoy?" he called out, trying not to cough.

"Potter?" Draco called back. "Your little attack weasel is trying to destroy your house!"

Harry heard a snort that was distinctly Ron, and then there was the creaking of old hinges and a sudden light. Through the haze, Harry could see their outlines; dark and gray through the layers of airborne dust. Ron and Hermione stood in the doorway, their silhouettes harshly outlined by the light of the sun, while Draco stood to the side, a myriad of shade. The sight of the blonde made Harry's heart nearly stop.

And then the door shut and everything was dark.

"Potter?" Draco called once more, shuffling further into the house.

"Is it Saturday already?" Harry said weakly, not quite knowing how to react. The dust was settling now, and Harry could just barely make out the remnants of what had just taken place.

"Very funny." Draco finally stepped into sight, wearing a wry smile. "Sorry about the mess by the way. It really wasn't my fault you know. Weasley freaked when he saw me walk through the door and—"

"Hold on a sec." Harry stepped towards the blonde, noticing something odd. Even through the light film of dust, the small ring of faded blue and purple around the fair grey eye was evident. "Merlin." Harry breathed, staring aghast at the swollen eye and bruised cheek/ "Did Ron do that?"

Draco's smile twitched. "Potter, look, it's really no big deal. Nothing a few simple mending spells won't take care of, and—"

"Malfoy!"

Harry flinched at the sound of Ginny's voice.

Draco looked over Harry's shoulder, a sneer evident on his bruised face. "Weaslette."

"What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped.

The blonde chuckled, his gaze moving back to Harry with a mischievous twinkle. "Seems like all your friends are in quite the merry mood this afternoon aren't they. What's the matter Ginevra?" He stepped around Harry. "Still all torn up about your brother?"

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed just as he heard the sound of Ginny's hand whipping across Draco's cheek.

"How dare you!" Ginny's eyes were afire, but Draco hadn't even flinched. "You have no right to be here!"

The Slytherin tilted his head in mock confusion., "I'm just as much Harry's friend as you are."

"Hardly." The redhead returned, her tone biting. "Six years of torturing Harry at Hogwarts is not made up by a few weeks of pretense."

Harry's eyes darted between the two nervously. This conversation was not boding well.

"Pretense?" Draco's sneer turned sour. "Well I suppose you would be an expert on the subject."

"I do hope my brother gave you that black eye."

"Sorry to disappoint."

Ginny's face reddened. "Not disappointed. All the better actually, seeing as there's only one other man who could have given it to you, and frankly, getting a black eye from your own father is much more humiliating."

Harry saw Draco's entire body go rigid. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you, little girl."

"Aw," Ginny pouted her bottom lip wickedly, "hit a little too close to home did I?"

"Weasley." Draco and Harry both moved at once, though Harry was the quicker of the two. He placed himself in between Draco and Ginny, his head turning so as he could keep a proper eye on each.

"Guys," a shiver racked his spine at the blonde's close proximity. Harry's skin prickled with every breath, and he could feel impossible heat like fire radiating from the other boy's body. Merlin, if he could but raise his hand to touch the fabric of his robe. His hand twitched, aching for the motion.

"Potter? You all right?" Draco's breath on his face like a sweet wine, and it made Harry's head spin.

Harry suddenly jerked towards Ginny. This—whatever it was—frightened him. This magnetic pull. This desire that had him so disgustingly enthralled. "Malfoy," he choked out, "could you wait for me in the kitchen? It's just down the hall."

Grey eyes flickered over Ginny before they returned to Harry. "Sure." And with a graceful sweep, Draco disappeared down the hall and into the dark.

Harry and Ginny waited for the distinct squeal of hinges and click of a facet before they allowed themselves to relax. Ginny crossed her arms, looking less riled now that Malfoy was out of her presence, but still noticeably upset. "Why the hell didn't you kick him out?"

Now that Draco was gone, Harry allowed his eyes to drift down the hall. "You saw his eye," he replied distantly.

"Yeah! And I'd like to give him another to match!"

"Ginny!" Harry reprimanded, his eyes darting up to meet hers. They stared at each other, all ferocity and vehemence. "I know you think—"

"I don't _think_ anything!" Ginny cut him off, already knowing what Harry wanted to say. "I know he was the one who attacked me!"

"Why in the world would he attack you?"

Ginny threw her arms into the air. "Oh I don't know! To get to _you_ maybe!" Her dark eyes narrowed. "And his plan seems to be working rather well."

Harry's tongue flitted across the roof of his mouth, but there were no words, no rebuttals, save for, "You're wrong."

"Then I'm leaving as well." With a huff Ginny brushed past him and threw open the front door. Harry kept his back to the door. He didn't want to watch her leave. Everything was falling apart. "Not everyone can change, Harry. I hope you know what you're doing. For your own sake."

The door slammed, and Harry was alone.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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Man, is Harry an angstmuffin or what!

**Reviews are always appreciated! :)**


	17. All I Need

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and innuendo

**Warnings**: future slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CS, PoA, GoF, Ootp, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: Man...thank god for summer...seriously! I may actually have time to do things now! Thanks to everyone who favorited and reviewed! You guys are AWESOME!

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_I'm dying to catch my breath_

_Oh, why don't I ever learn?_

_I've lost all my trust_

_Though I've surely tried to turn it around._

_Can you still see the heart of me?_

_All my agony fades away_

_When you hold me in your embrace._

_Don't tear me down_

_You've opened the door now_

_Don't let it close._

-Within Temptation

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

A wave of warmth flooded across Harry's body as he entered the kitchen, accompanied by the strong aroma of some spiced drink. He inhaled deeply, trying to allow the new atmosphere calm his flittering nerves. The kitchen was a much brighter place than it had been just a week ago. Harry spent a great deal of time in the kitchen these days, mostly because the small cramped coziness of the room was unusually comforting to him. So, Kreacher had taken it upon himself to spruce up the space, and Harry had to admit that the old house-elf had outdone himself.

The room was stumpy, rectangular, and the décor looked like it could have dated centuries back, but at least it was no longer layered in filth. The wooden floor and cabinets shone like new, and the stone around the furnace and stove had been dusted and polished back to its original brilliance. A small wooden table and a couple beaten chairs were the only pieces of furniture in the room, but they were now unburdened by the piles of papers and partially eaten, half-rotten food that normally consumed their surfaces. As of now, Draco was hunched over the table, stirring a mug of some steaming liquid from which said aroma was pluming.

Harry stared at the blonde for a long while, admiring how the soft glow of the candlelight lit his hair, and the way his neck dipped into the perfect curve of his shoulder. Harry tore his eyes away as he felt his knees go weak. He was disgusted with himself. Thinking such thoughts when Ron was gone…when Ron was…

"Oh, Master Malfoy!" an excited Kreacher squealed, rounding the corner with unprecedented enthusiasm. He had clutched in his small knobby hands, a small jar, which he placed upon the table next to Malfoy as if it were a precious gem, "Your peppermint sir," he said with a ridiculously low bow.

"It had better not be spearmint," the Slytherin replied, sounding his old annoyed self.

"It's peppermint sir!" Kreacher squeaked in obvious delight, "Oh, Master Malfoy sir, you are just like my old Mistress you are! None of this nonsense with 'you're welcomes' and 'thank you's'—"

Draco rubbed his temples and winced, "Just get the hell out of here will you?"

"Right away sir!" Kreacher bowed lowly once more before turning to Harry, "Anything for you, Master Potter?"

Draco jumped, spilling some of his drink onto the table. He turned suddenly, looking as if he were a young boy who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar—save for the fact that he had a black eye, a split lip, hardly looked anything like a child, and the kitchen was markedly without a cookie jar. "Potter," he straightened, and it didn't pass Harry's notice how his face creased with pain as he did so, "I didn't realize you were there."

It was worse now that Draco was facing him; worse now that there was nobody else there to distract him. "I'm fine, Kreacher. Thanks." He answered softly, pressing himself back against the door. His entire body felt taught, like a bow pulled too tight. Why? Why did all of this have to happen now? Draco shouldn't be worth all of this. So then, why was _Draco_ the one who was still here?

"I um," Draco looked somewhat uncomfortable, which was strange in itself, "I brought back your wand."

The blonde fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the old wooden wand. He placed it gingerly on the table, his fingers lingering over it before he dropped his hand back to his side. "I didn't realize you still used your first wand."

Harry nodded weakly, trying not to stare at Draco's lips as he spoke.

Draco nodded as well, and dropped his gaze to the floor. A strained silence ensued, during which the Slytherin halfheartedly mixed the mint into his drink while Harry stood and suffered as the strings of his heart vibrated with painful ferocity in his chest. _This pain must be part of the spell_, he thought wryly. He had noticed that the farther he had traveled from Malfoy Manor, the harder his head had pounded. But now it was almost worse. Being this close…was torture—a torture he wasn't sure was worth the cost.

Was this all his life was meant to be? Was there never to be any peace? Any happiness? If it weren't for Draco…could he be happy right now? Like Ron had said?

"Would you like some cider?" Draco offered up his mug, "I added some peppermint."

Harry gave a hollow laugh. Mint and spice. So that's where the taste came from. Harry's mouth watered at the thought. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, unwilling to maintain the strength that had kept him on his feet.

"Potter!" Draco started forward.

"Stay where you are!" Harry said with as much force as he could muster.

The blonde froze where he stood, but didn't seemed satisfied with the command, "Potter don't be ridiculous! You look pale as death. Let me help you."

"How can you" Harry replied sadistically, "when you can't even touch me?"

Draco recoiled, wounded, "I didn't mean that I would—"

"What are you here for, Malfoy?" Harry cut him off. It was too much. He just wanted it to all go away. He wanted to be numb of this burning consuming fire.

"To bring you back your fucking wand!" Draco returned, growing heated, "To see you! Why the hell do you think I'm here? If you even knew half of what I went through to get here—"

"Do you even know half of what I'm going through right now!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes welling up with the only release he had. "Ron's gone! Hermione's gone! Ginny's gone! Everyone's gone! And it's all because of you!"

Harry pushed himself back to his feet, tears now freely streaming down his cheeks. He stormed towards the blonde, tore the mug from his hands, and hurled it aside where it shattered and spilled to the ground. Draco simply stared, shocked, while Harry's mind and body raged as he tried to hold on to his anger, "If it weren't for you they would still be here right now! What do you think it's like for me? Defending you to them? Trying to justify it to myself! Standing here with you and feeling—Merlin, I don't even know!" Harry flailed his arms hopelessly. His breathing was raspy and raked with heavy sobs, and he was shaking so hard his vision was blurred.

Draco's brow furrowed, as if he was confused by seeing Harry cry…as if it didn't make sense to him, and indeed, maybe it didn't. He stood perfectly still, and for once it seemed, Draco was at a loss for words.

Harry stepped back, a new wave of tears pouring from his eyes. He tried to fist them away, but it was no use. "Just leave," the Gryffindor said in a choked whisper.

"No." Draco found his voice and stepped forward defiantly. Harry's breath caught as he felt his body respond to the other boy's nearness. It was anguish. Like being burned and then plunged into ice water. "We can go to the library. I can get books from my house." Draco looked as if he wanted to grab Harry by the shoulders and shake him, "We can figure this out!"

Harry's muscles ached from their tenseness, "I don't know if I can stand being near you for that long." Harry dropped his gaze, embarrassed and torn. It was only the truth. Even now, every time he breathed there was only Draco—there was only that dark intensity. And quite frankly, he didn't know the limit of his control.

The blonde stilled, inclining his head, "I could sit away from you if you'd like."

The hard waves of sobs had subsided now into silent tears and the occasional deep ragged breath. "It's bad either way," Harry replied softly. "Whether you're here or halfway across the world, I think it would still hurt. And I think its getting worse. After you ki—…after yesterday morning, things just…" his words faded.

The grey storm in Draco's eyes darkened. "Does it," he bit his lip, reopening the cut there, "…does it hurt now? Am I hurting you now?"

Harry lifted his eyes back to Draco's, "More than you know."

With a look of utter torment, and the most unguarded expression Harry had ever seen him wear, the blonde lifted his hands. Harry inhaled sharply as he felt the ghost of Draco's skin over his face. Their eyes were locked, and together they held such an intense veracity that Harry didn't need the blonde's words to know what was going through his mind. He wanted to help. With only a touch, Harry knew the pain would be gone, and Draco seemed to know it too. But then, what about after? What would happen when the touch was gone? The hands hovering over his cheeks began to tremble, torn between the wants, the needs, and the promise. And then they were gone, like a wave of cold, and Draco was retreating. With each step, Harry felt his strength wane.

Draco's back hit the table, bringing him to a halt, but their gazes remained unbroken. The Slytherin's face was hard now: resolute. "I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't."

The room was beginning to spin. "I know."

"It would just make things worse right?"

"Yeah." Harry staggered.

"Potter? You're shaking again."

"Huh?" Harry brought his hand to his head, feeling that his fingers were strangely cold. "I think I need to sit down." And then he was falling.

"Harry!" Draco sprung forward with the instinct only a seeker could have, and caught Harry just before he crumpled to the hard floor.

Harry took a sharp breath and all at once his pain became bliss. Everything around him sharpened suddenly, and color became so vibrant that the world before might as well have been black and white. The blood in his veins sang euphoria, and heat prickled under his skin. "Draco," he breathed, allowing his eyelids to fall as his body melted into the blonde's arms.

"Potter!" Draco shook him, and Harry frowned, wanting only to concentrate on the beautiful feeling of the blonde's arms encircling him. "Potter, don't you go and faint on me again! I think there's a rule about fainting twice within a twenty-four hour period! Myth has it that goblins will come and eat off your toes while you sleep—or something ridiculously horrific like that. You like your toes don't you, Potter?" Draco shook him once more, "Potter! Are you listening to me?"

"I like my toes." Harry mumbled, sounding like a child and not caring.

"Good. Now get up will you? You're actually hurting me. I think my wrist is sprained."

Harry curled into Draco's chest, effectively taking most of the weight off of the Slytherin's arms. He buried his tear-wet face into the cloth, liking the way the warm fabric felt against his skin. The blonde hissed with pain as he moved, and for the first time that evening, Harry was able to fully grasp the seriousness of Draco's current state.

The Gryffindor sat up slowly, keeping his hands fisted in Draco's robes just for the necessity of the contact. "Did your father," Harry swallowed hard, just now realizing how horrible the blonde's face looked, "really do this to you?"

Draco grimaced, "Potter, I promised that I wouldn't touch you."

"Did he?"

"I really shouldn't be here with you like this—"

"Well you're not touching me! I'm touching you! Now will you answer the damn question?"

The Slytherin lowered his gaze, "I won't deny that my father was involved."

"But why would he hit you?" Harry's fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were going white.

"There are reasons."

"But why?" And suddenly a thought came upon Harry that caused him to blush, "It wasn't because…you know…because of yesterday morning or anything, right?"

Draco almost smiled, "I only wish it were something simple like that."

"Tell me."

The blonde remained silent.

"Draco?"

Harry saw something flicker in the other boy's eyes before he shut them. "I don't want to talk about it."

Harry's hand glided up Draco's chest, over the milky skin of his neck, up across his face, and his fingers traced along the bruised skin of Draco's eye. The blonde didn't move; he simply sat, eyes closed, breathing deeply, allowing Harry to indulge in his pain. When Draco did speak, his voice was barely above a whisper, "Does this help you at least?"

"Does what help me?" Harry said distractedly, his hand moving to the softness of Draco's cream-colored cheek.

"Doing what you're doing now."

"What?" Harry's voice was a haze.

The blonde chuckled at Harry's obvious distraction. "Touching me you dolt."

Harry's hand recoiled sharply, "Oh! Sorry, I really didn't mean to—"

"It's all right." Draco's eyes opened, and the corners of his mouth lifted, "You don't have to be sorry…if it helps."

Harry allowed himself to relax into a smile. "Yeah. It does. It's like…well, I don't really know how to describe it exactly."

"But what about after you let go?"

The smile dropped. "I don't know." Harry leaned in closer, fearing Draco might push him away and this exhilarating feeling would all be lost again. Funny, how the thought of touching Draco only disgusted him when they weren't touching.

"Let go, Harry."

Panic gripped at Harry's chest, "What? Why?"

"To see what happens." Draco ran a slender hand through his pale hair, "And, because you're going to have to sooner or later."

Harry's hand loosened and quivered. Draco didn't move to quicken Harry's release; he merely watched, looking nearly as pained as Harry felt. It wasn't an easy thing to see of course, for Draco, even in his current state, kept his face well trained. But Harry knew that face well enough to notice the slight tenseness in his jaw, and the small downward curve of his mouth. The cloth slowly slipped from Harry's fingers, and with it the vibrant shades, and the soft humming in his heart. The dull throbbing returned, seating itself deep in the back of Harry's head, but…it wasn't quite as bad as before.

"Well?"

"It's…bearable." And the pain was, but everything else…the instinct urging him to pull Draco to him once more, was just as strong.

The Slytherin sighed and shut his eyes in thought. "I—well I sort of have an idea," he said, half in contemplation, "It actually came over me this morning but I didn't know if I should say anything or not."

"I think I'm about ready to try anything." Harry said, his fingers aching to reattach themselves to the warm comfort of Draco's robes.

Draco stood slowly and walked back over to the table, "I know you probably didn't notice, but I was there when you defeated the Dark Lord." His long pale hand trailed across the wooden surface, "I was there when you told him that it was my wand that you held, and that it was me who was the real master of that wand he held…Dumbledore's wand."

Harry stopped breathing.

"It was because I disarmed him right?" Draco wasn't looking at Harry. He was looking down at the table, watching his hand move rhythmically back and forth. Harry questioned what the blonde was touching, but the angle at which he sat did not permit him to see. "That was what made me the master of that wand, and not Snape. And then you disarmed me, back at my house. So both my wand and Dumbledore's wand obeyed you. And Dumbledore's wand…it still obeys you doesn't it?"

Silence was Harry's only response.

"That wand is special, isn't it." Draco's hand curled and he lifted Harry's wand from the table. "I overheard the Dark Lord asking Ollivander about it. He had said that it was a legendary wand…he said that it couldn't be beaten." He paused, and turned back to look at Harry, "Why do you use this wand," he held up Harry's wand, "instead of that one?"

Harry looked around, as if Ron or Hermione would suddenly come to his aid. Merlin, what would Hermione say? "It's just a myth, Malfoy," Harry replied shakily, "There's no such thing as a wand that can't be beaten."

"But that wand destroyed the Dark Lord."

"That wand destroyed him only because it was faithful to _me_. Dumbledore's wand was no different than any other wand."

A frosty cold set itself upon Draco's features. "I can tell that you're lying, Potter. You're horrible at it. There's no way a normal wand could destroy the most powerful wizard in all—"

"Second most." Harry corrected sternly, "Dumbledore was the greatest."

"The Dark Lord did magic that Dumbledore could only dream of doing!"

"Then why was Dumbledore the only wizard Voldemort was ever afraid of?"

"He was afraid of the wand, not the wizard!"

"Dumbledore was the best even before he had the Elder Wand! He—" Harry choked back his words just a second too late.

Draco gave a wry smirk. "So it is real then?" he sneered.

Harry's green eyes grew wide, and he shook his head frantically, "It—It doesn't matter! We destroyed it!"

"Magic like that can't be destroyed that easily, Potter! Do you think I'm daft? Why are you lying to me?" He could tell that Draco was hurt. The soft tremor in his voice gave it away.

Harry had never felt such an acute pained guilt. He could feel Draco's emotion hitting him like the sting of wasps. "I…" Harry struggled for breath as tears threatened his eyes once more, "Magic like that is dangerous, Malfoy. It _is_ being destroyed…I'm making sure of it."

"Why lie to me about it?" Draco started forward, and raised his arm. Harry's own wand was pointed straight at his chest. "Do you really not trust me?" Draco continued forward, until the tip of the wand was pressed into the skin of Harry's neck. "I could do anything to you right now, you know that? I could…I could even kill you if I wanted! Do you trust me not to do _that_?"

Harry stared up at the boy, warmth spilling over his cheeks. Slowly, gently, he raised his hands. "I trust you." He wrapped his fingers around the felt skin of Draco's hand. "I trust you." The wand clattered to the ground and Draco dropped to his knees, his hand still firmly grasped in Harry's. "I'm sorry. Please. I trust you."

The other boy was shaking, "I don't want to be lied to. If you don't want to tell me something, then say so."

"About the wand," Harry's fingers pressed into Draco's hand, feeling its heat seep into his skin and warm his very blood, "it really is dangerous. If was ever possessed by the wrong sort of person—"

"Potter, I would never—"

"I know you wouldn't." Harry pressed forward, leaving only space for their clasped hands in between. "But that kind of power in the wrong hands—I mean, imagine a wizard that can't be beaten. Unlimited power. It could be like Voldemort all over again."

"When you say 'wrong hands'," Draco's eyes were downcast, "you mean people like my father, don't you?"

Harry couldn't deny that that had been exactly what he meant. "But it won't matter soon. After I'm dead, the power of the wand will die."

The Slytherin's eyes shot up, "What do you mean?"

"The wand must always have a master. So, if I die without ever being defeated, the wand's power will cease to exist. And even if I was disarmed, nobody knows about the wand except for you, me, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I assume a Death Eater or two. But the Death Eaters would never find the wand, even if they do manage to do something to me."

"You must have it well hidden."

Harry grinned, enjoying the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach. "I think it's pretty safe." The closeness of Draco's body was beginning to awaken memories of yesterday's morning in his mind. Harry hummed in contentment.

"Potter?"

"Yeah?" Harry let out a breath, tilting his head slightly. Their faces fit together almost perfectly like this. Almost like their lips were made to meet…or so Harry thought.

"Would you please stop giving me that look?"

Harry blinked, "What look?"

"It looks like you've just been hit in the face by a bludger." Draco laughed at Harry's questioning look, "It's that same look that all the girls get when they look at you. Like they've just taken a hit to the head and are caught between a daze and reality."

The Gryffindor sputtered, "You're crazy! Girls have never looked at me like that. I don't even know what you're saying that look implies."

"Oh come on, Potter! Surely you haven't missed all the stares; all the steeled glances." Draco favored him with a coy mocking smile, "Their eyes get all big and starry." He batted his pale lashes, "Their mouths hang open like they're in a trance. And when you speak to them their face gets so red you'd think they'd just eaten Colormorphic Whizball." Draco leaned forward, probably not realizing how taunting the movement was. "It's the kind of look Longbottom used to give me," he said with a laugh, "where they look like they can live just by staring at you."

Harry's body was red and alive with embarrassment. The butterflies that had been fluttering in his stomach suddenly became giant thestrals, flapping their massive leathery wings to the beat of his fiercely pounding of his heart. There was the briefest moment of suspended silence, during which Harry's eyes flickered helplessly down to Draco's slightly parted lips and back up again. A soft force like the wind was at his back, urging him forward. Harry stiffened against it in an act of desperate resistance.

"You see?" Was it just him or was Draco's voice suddenly an octave lower than before? "You've even gotten all red." The heaviness of Draco's breath pooled heat on Harry's face, and the room around them darkened. "Is this how it is with Ginny?"

But Harry couldn't form a response. His brain was hardly processing words at this point. There was only Draco, and the way the other boy felt so completely perfect against him. Harry's head dipped as he leaned forward, no longer able to keep his hold against this urge, and wanting more than anything to experience the soft velvet of Draco's mouth. But just as skin touched skin, just as his eyes fluttered shut in heated anticipation…just as Harry felt the first glimmer of the kiss, the blonde pulled away.

Their hands separated, and Draco recoiled into a sitting position, his breathing quicker than it should have been. "I'm sorry, Potter." his words were weighted with an unprovoked hardness, "I shouldn't have—I've forgotten myself. I shouldn't have let you touch me like that." His good eye looked misted, as if he wasn't quite aware of the happenings around him.

Harry's chest caved as he fell back onto his heels. He didn't know what to say. What would anyone say in this sort of situation? Harry highly doubted that it had happened enough for there to be any good standard answers. _Oh yeah, sorry I tried to kiss you too. I didn't mean it…even though I did. I'm sorry too that I touched you…even though I really liked it. I should've asked permission first_. Harry cursed inaudibly, _How utterly ridiculous_.

"Do you want to go now?" Draco asked, his brows creased.

"Go where?" Harry said wearily. His lips were still buzzing with longing.

Draco began to rise to his feet, his eyes darting about nervously. The blonde seemed almost…shaken. "To the library," he ran a hand through his already perfectly prim hair, "We should go now don't you think?"

The dark haired boy gave a hopeless shrug, "Yeah, I suppose so." He too rose to his feet, grabbed his wand, and turned towards the door, albeit shakily.

"Potter?"

Harry stopped and turned back.

Unguarded grey swept across his vision. The blonde looked straight at him, his expression poised and unfaltering. "When you," Draco's cheeks burned a sudden pink, "…when you kiss me, who is it that you're kissing?"

Harry's breath hitched, "What?"

"You know what I mean." Draco replied, his tone dark and strangely hollow. "Who do you think about?"

The Gryffindor faltered, silently wondering if there was some sort of trick to this question. "Why would I think about anyone other than you?" he answered honestly.

Draco stilled to the point that even his breathing was imperceptible. "Not even Ginny?"

Harry narrowed his eyes searchingly, "Is everything all right, Malfoy?"

"Of course." Draco shook himself, and swept past Harry towards the door, leaving notable distance between himself and the other boy. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

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_**~xXxXxXx~**_

* * *

And the plot thickens...

Let me know what you think! Next chapter probably will take a bit longer (finals are ever approaching XP )


	18. Ignorance

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and innuendo

**Warnings**: future slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: I'M DOOOOOOONE! Man...it's been one of those years you know *sighs* but anyway! Thank you dear readers for all your support and all the good luck wishes :) they were so sweet!

P.S. This chapter hasn't been beta'd yet...and given my braindeadness there will probably be a billion mistakes so sorry in advance!

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Nothing left to make me feel anymore_

_There's only you and everyday I need more_

_If you want me_

_Come and find me_

_I'll do anything you say just tell me_

_I'll believe all your lies_

_Just pretend you love me_

_Make believe, close your eyes_

_I'll be anything for you_

-Evanescence

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

By the time the two boys reached downtown London, it was almost half past eight. The night was heavy with heat, and thick layers of fog had already settled on the ground. But Harry was thankful for the lateness of day, for at least it meant that he and Draco could slip through the dark streets unnoticed. He certainly did not want a repeat of last week.

"This way," Draco whispered from ahead, and Harry turned to follow him down a small, albeit shady, looking alleyway. Harry had never been to the London Wizarding Library, but he had heard one too many of Hermione's endless rants about it. Apparently it had one of the largest collections in the entire wizarding world, and was said to have books dating back before the Dark Ages. Draco had said that if there was a reversal spell to Harry's curse, it would be found in that library. Harry just hoped he was right.

As they traveled along the alley, Harry couldn't help but notice that the buildings seemed to be closing in on them the further they went in. "Malfoy," he hissed once he could no longer walk with his shoulders square, "are you sure you know where the hell we're going?"

"Of course I know where I'm going, Potter," Draco huffed. "Granger isn't the only person in England who enjoys a good book you know."

"I'm pretty sure she enjoys some bad ones as well."

Draco mumbled something under his breath that sounded distinctly like "smartass", but otherwise decided to ignore Harry's comment.

The Gryffindor smiled to himself. It was nice to be out; to be doing something other than sitting alone with his thoughts. And it was nice that someone was with him—someone who was also possibly the only person in this world who came to Harry with something very different than expectations and obligations. It also didn't really hurt that he was completely and undeniably attracted to the other boy. Harry blushed at his own thoughts. Of course he wasn't attracted to Malfoy! At least… not naturally. Natural attraction would mean he was gay, and Harry Potter was definitely, _definitely,_ not gay. It was more like…magically induced attraction. And natural attraction and magically induced attraction were two completely different things. They may feel the same…and give the same all too brief flutters of exhilaration…and feel absolutely perfect—his mind gave an inward sigh before snapping back to attention. No matter how similar the two may have felt, they were still very, _very_ different. Right?

Harry was so wrapped up in his attempt to differentiate between the two types of attractions, that he didn't notice the blonde come to a sudden halt. With a muffled thump, Harry walked straight into the other boy.

"Potter!" Draco abashed.

Harry's blush deepened. The contact had been brief, but it had been enough to get his definition of attraction mixed up all over again. Harry mumbled indistinct apologies and stepped back, feeling as if the heat of the night was pressing in on him.

Draco, however, was much more concerned with the brick wall than he was with Harry's sudden distressed state. Harry forced his eyes away from the blonde to co-examine the wall. The building loomed up endlessly, its dark brick disappearing into the low haze of the night sky. It looked like a normal wall—maybe a little bit run down—but normal all the less.

Harry blinked, and then squinted. He could've sworn the bricks had just moved. But they sat still as rock; long and vertical. Strange…they had been horizontal just a moment ago, hadn't they? What kind of building had vertical bricks? And they looked thinner now too. Something was definitely happening. "Hey, Malfoy, the bricks—"

"Shush! I'm trying to remember something. It's been a little while since I've been here." Draco ran his hand along the bricks, reminding Harry very much of the way Hagrid had dragged his disguised wand across the back wall of The Leaky Cauldron. A smile pulled at the corners of the Slytherin's mouth, and with a sound like grinding stone, the blonde pulled one of the bricks from the wall. Harry gaped.

The brick was narrow in width, but fairly sized in length and height. It reminded Harry of—well—the size of a textbook.

Draco held it in one arm, and pulled out his wand with his free hand. "The first step towards knowledge," he placed the tip of his wand to the brick, "is to know that we are ignorant."

The brick Draco held in his hands disappeared with a sounding pop, and everything fell into a sudden deathly quiet. Then, like the rising roar of the ocean, the world around them began to shift, and with a sudden gust of wind, the alleyway wall caved in upon them. Darkness washed over them as they were hurtled forward, and Harry had to widen his stance to keep himself from being knocked backward as the wall enveloped them. His steadily rising instinct to grab a hold of Draco was only broken by a strange voice.

"Section please." the automated female voice chimed above the roaring wind.

"Love and or lust spells." Draco pronounced with effective preciseness, and Harry held his breath in embarrassment.

"Restricted. Membership authorization and age required."

"Draco Malfoy. Age: eighteen."

There was a calculating pause, "Access granted. Enjoy your stay. The first step towards knowledge is to know that we are ignorant."

The wind stilled, and slowly but surely, the world around them brightened. Candles ignited and rose from the floor, and Harry couldn't' help but gasp at the sight they illuminated. They were in the largest room he had ever seen…or at least, he thought it was a room. They stood in the center of a marble tiled hallway, so long that the end vanished into darkness before a wall could be seen. Shelves as tall as buildings lined the hall, absolutely stuffed to the brim with books. Thin ladders leaned, propped up against the wooden shelves; their bottoms hovering just above the ground, and their tops reaching endlessly towards the domed ceiling. The candlelight dusted the warm wood with gold, and made the dark tile glow like fire itself.

"Shut your mouth, Potter," Draco said in his usual drawling tone. "You're gawking."

A table and two chairs silently appeared, accompanied with a trolley, on which sat parchment and a rather large peacock quill.

"Search!" Draco snapped his fingers, and the quill and parchment immediately sprang to life, zipping over to hover expectantly in front of their caller. "Bring us what you can on reversal spells, and information on how a love spell can be cast." The quill scribbled some indistinguishable writing onto the parchment, "Oh! And bring me one lower level first aid book from the Medical section. Begin search." With a final flourishing scratch the quill and parchment flew back to the trolley, which skated off and disappeared into one of the innumerable rows of books. Harry merely stared after it, awestruck.

With a heavy sigh, Draco walked over and plopped down into one of the poorly cushioned chairs. "Potter," he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, "will you stop acting like a damn muggle? I seriously can't believe you've never been here before."

Harry pulled his attention away and shrugged. He couldn't help but notice how tired Draco sounded. He joined the other boy, sitting in the only other chair, which was coincidentally positioned next to Draco instead of across the table. "You know," Harry said softly, watching the steady rise and fall of Draco's chest, "you didn't have to come here. You don't have to do this for me. I mean—you can go home if you'd like."

Draco's eyes blinked open, and he raised his head with a smirk. "Of course I have to, Potter. You wouldn't even know how to find this place if it weren't for me. Someone's got to help you fix this, because Merlin knows you're helpless on your own. And besides that," the blonde leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table, "I don't much feel like being home anyway."

The dark haired boy shifted uncomfortably, "Your father?"

The blonde nodded, "He's been acting a little off…for a good while now."

_Oh no. He's been more than a little off for way longer than a good while._ Harry thought it, but didn't dare say it. And then he remembered something. It was just over two years ago that Lucius had been thrown into Askaban by Harry's testimony. Harry's head did a guilty spin. But—Lucius hadn't been there for long, and by that time Voldemort already had a fairly firm hold over the Dementors. Surely Lucius Malfoy hadn't gone mad in so short of a time. Harry didn't think so, but he wondered if Draco did.

"I know what you're thinking," Draco's face darkened, "I can tell by the guilty look on your face. I swear, Potter, you wear your heart on your sleeve. But I don't think it was Askaban. He's not mad, he's just—" The sound of whirring wheels and flapping pages interrupted him.

The two boys gazed down the hall to see the trolley racing towards them, a mountain of books piled impossibly on its top. The cart came to a screeching halt at the side of the table and was still. Draco made a noise that indicated his dread as he gazed up at the intimidating stack of books and paper.

Harry found himself grimacing as well, "That looks like a lot of reading."

"I don't think that just _looks_ like a lot of reading, Potter." Draco sighed, "I think that _is_ a lot of reading." With an authoritative snap of his fingers that Harry could never even dream to imitate, the books all gave a slight jump of attention, "Summon: Medical category." A thin, blue covered book suddenly jumped from the pile and laid itself down in front of Draco.

"This is a really helpful library," Harry observed.

"Yeah it is." Draco replied, flipping absently through the book. "Like I said, I can't believe you've never been here before, especially with Granger as a friend."

"Yeah. She's dragged Ron here a couple times over holidays and tried to drag me along as well, but I've always managed to get out of it."

"You don't like to read?"

Harry inclined his head thoughtfully, "Not really. I'd rather spend my time doing other things. Textbooks are particularly dreadful."

"Potter," Draco paused to look at him, "you're an absolute heathen, do you know that?"

"I am not!"

"Are too." The blonde gave a coy smile before returning to his book, "And if the first step towards knowledge is to know that you are ignorant, I would say you're taking a step backwards wouldn't you?"

"I'm not ignorant." Harry returned.

"Make that, a giant leap backwards."

"I'm not!"

"And thus you prove my point."

"Malfoy, if I could use my wand, I swear I would hex your snotty arrogant arse with—"

"Ah hah!" Draco exclaimed, pointing excitedly at his book.

Harry curled his lip irately and tried to peer over at the book, but the other boy already his wand pulled and the book propped up securely out of Harry's line of sight. "What? What did you find?"

With a flourish and a string of Latin rooted words with which Harry was quite unfamiliar, the dark haired boy watched the tip of Draco's wand light into a brilliant blue. The blonde placed the tip to his eye, and Harry saw the dark bruising slowly recede and smooth into fair alabaster skin. The blonde proceeded to do this for several other parts of his body, each time letting out a sigh as if he were expelling the pain through his breath. "Much better." Draco whispered. The blue light vanished and Draco turned to Harry with a sunlit smile, "How about it? Am I beautiful again?"

Harry swallowed the hard lump in his throat, and felt his blood heat beneath his skin. The soft light cast hard shadows across Draco's face, rendering the sharpness of his features all the more pronounced, and making him look as he were an angel from one of the great artists' masterpieces brought to life. Beauty wasn't the word, for the word beauty did no justice to the way his cheeks burned with the heat of life, or the way his eyes sparked lightning in a grey storm, or the way his lips looked as soft and supple as rose petals. "You're fine." was all Harry could come up with…it was all he could make his lips say.

"Fine?" Draco's lips twitched downward, "That's it?"

Harry nodded, not daring to speak. His temples were already pounding as it was.

"You're sitting there under the influence of a love—or at least a lust—spell, and all you can say is 'you're fine'?" Draco made a pouting look of disappointment, "I was expecting sonnets! Lavish recitations of the vast and endless depth of my handsomeness!"

"Er," Harry frowned and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "well—I mean of course you're…especially in this light…"

"You're never getting married, Potter." The blonde stated matter-of-factly.

"What? I am so."

"You can't even get a half-ass compliment out of your mouth." Draco closed his book, and turned to place it back on the trolley. "What kind of girl is going to want to be with a boy who can't even lie to her about how beautiful she always is?" With another snap the books gave a sudden start, "Categorize. Stacks. Love versus Lust. Reversal verses Casting." The books began to file off the trolley and stack themselves in an orderly manner on the table.

"I don't want to have to lie about it." Harry said softly, mulling over the idea of marriage, "I want to love my wife so much that she's always beautiful to me no matter what."

"What a dream you live in. That's the problem with marriage," the Slytherin said distractedly, grabbing a rather hefty looking book from the nearest pile, "we say that love is blind, but it isn't really. Seventy percent of human sensory is processed by sight, which is why we are so completely enraptured by people and things that are beautiful. People get married when they're young, because the young are naturally attractive. But beauty fades in time, and some people can trick themselves into thinking they don't care…but they do. Nothing is ever the same, once the beauty of it all is gone."

Harry's body tensed as a wave of unexplainable distress washed over him, "Is that really all love is to you?"

"I don't believe in love." The blonde wasn't looking at Harry, nor did he look like he was paying much attention to his words. He was completely engrossed in the book, scanning and flipping through pages with speed to rival Hermione. "I believe in sex. And I believe some people get confused about sex, and feel that they only need to share it with one person. But all that happens in the end is that they are stuck with that person for the rest of their lives and having to deal with that person's crap on top of their own. Before long, they begin to argue, and then those arguments turn into fights, and soon that's all they do until they reach the point where they absolutely hate each other. I've seen it happen more times than I can count." Draco released a deep breath and turned a page, "Marriage ruins good relationships."

"Not always." Harry stated, a soft sadness in his voice.

"Maybe."

"So you're never going to get married then?"

"No, I am. I have to produce an heir after all. But I don't have any expectations that she stay loyal to me, just as she shouldn't for me. Queenie's younger sister Daphne and I—" Draco's eyes flickered up to Harry and were halfway back down to his book before he did a double-take, "Potter, are you all right?"

"What?" Harry was hardly aware that his brow was creased.

"You look upset. Are you feeling all right? Am I hurting you again? If you want I can keep my arm here and—"

"It's just sad."

Draco blinked, "What is?"

The Gryffindor looked away, "That you don't believe in love."

The other boy was lost in befuddled silence, "I—well what does it matter whether I believe in it or not?"

"Because…one day you're going to end up all alone, and you'll have no one to blame for it but yourself. You don't find that sad?"

"Potter," Draco scoffed, "I'm a Slytherin, and to be a Slytherin is to be alone…and it also means that I can _always_ find someone to blame." He tried to laugh, but it was a halfhearted attempt. He leaned forward against the table, putting himself within the border of Harry's vision, "Look, Potter, I think it's just been a long day for you, and being a Gryffindor you're naturally over-sensitive anyway. Let's just read and try to figure this thing out okay?"

Harry grabbed a book from the top of the nearest stack, and flipped it open in silent agreement.

He didn't see Draco's expression before the blonde returned to his reading, but he didn't really want to see it. Did he really not believe in love? That in itself was a depressing thought. No doubt an ideal taught to him by his father. The most heart dropping thought of all, however, was that the two experiences that he and Draco had shared really _had_ meant nothing. For some reason, the thought made Harry's chest feel hollow.

"Potter?"

"Hm?" Harry didn't look up.

"You do realize you're reading the publication page right?"

"Oh." Harry's shoulders sank sheepishly, and he turned the feather thin pages to the first page of text. _Love Potion #9 and You_ was the first chapter title. Harry's lip curled as he turned to the blonde, "This is weird."

Draco's attention was already set back on his book. Even in this short period of time, Harry could tell that Draco had been an avid studier at school. "Yeah, a bit. But would you rather not do it?"

"No."

"Well then, don't complain. I was thinking we should come here every day actually."

"Every day! Even Saturday?"

"Yep."

"And Sunday?"

"Uh huh."

"But what about—"

"Look, Potter," Draco gave him an annoyed sidelong glare, "you said you wanted this fixed, and you didn't want to hear my idea about the wand, so this is how it has to be. What if you start getting worse?"

Harry hadn't thought of that. And now that it had been said, he found himself wishing Draco hadn't thought of it either. If being near Draco was going to get harder than it already was…if being away from him was going to get harder—Harry bit at his lip. "Hey, Malfoy," he asked unsurely, "when do you think you're going to head home tonight?"

"I wasn't. I was going to head over to Pansy's house. Or Blaise's. I haven't decided which sex fiend I'd rather fend off yet."

"Do you wanna stay at my place?" Harry found himself subconsciously wringing his hands.

Draco looked over at him, but Harry pointedly avoided his gaze. Draco's tone was cautious, "I don't think that would be wise."

Harry's head turned. "Why not?"

There was a deafening pause, "You know why not."

"I can control it I promise—I just…" the dark haired boy licked his dry lips, "I just don't want to be alone."

"But won't it hurt you for me to be there?"

"Not as badly as it will if you're gone." Harry's hands were clutched together so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

Another pause ensued; moments falling between the two boys who could do nothing but stare at the other and wonder what the hell was going on in his head. Or at least…that's what Harry was doing. "Fine." Draco finally said, and with a certain air of comfortableness, turned back to his book.

After the initial shock, Harry finally felt the smallest of smiles pull at the corners of his mouth. He didn't say anything more to Draco after that, but he didn't really need to. The two boys just sat and read, enjoying the silent presence of the company they shared. And perhaps, when neither boy was paying particular attention, Harry's arm would brush against Draco's. Never the other way around, for Draco would never instigate a touch due to his promise, but it was enough for Harry. It was enough for him to know that the other boy didn't pull away.

And thus the night faded as many nights do, where there was only the warm glow of fire, and the soft calmness of silence.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Ok so! important notice: I am now at the point where I'm writing the climax/end of the story annnnnd I kind of have to decide whether I'm going to have a sequel or not. What are your thoughts? Should I leave this story open for a sequel, finish the story off, or finish the story and start a sequel that begins with an alternate ending to this story? Options options options...so let me know, cuz I'm on the fence about it.

**Please review :)**


	19. I See You

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and innuendo

**Warnings**: future slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, Ootp, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: Wow you guys! Lol all the reviews were so sweet and amazing! Than ya'll so much! I wish ff. net would stop being broken so I could actually reply to them from my email :( But anyway...as of right now it looks like there will be a sequel (which I'm pretty ok with seeing as it means I can end this story the way I originally intended it to end).

P.S. This is like my faaaaaaaaaaavorite chapter ever so...I hope you guys like it too :D

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_With my eyes I see you_

_Standing there, without a care_

_With my heart I see you_

_Wanting more, of what love has in store._

_And know I want to stay right here, right here with you_

_When I see you_

_In a moment, everything around us falls away_

_And all I see is you_

_And I feel you right beside me_

_Everything familiar now feels new whenever I'm with you_

_This is love_.

-Alan Lett

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

"This is utterly and completely ridiculous, Potter."

And it was ridiculous. The two boys sat in the library, staring irately at the vast amount of books that was still piled before them. It had been ten days since they had first started their research, and thus far, they had gotten absolutely nowhere.

"And you think I'm having a jolly good time over here, Malfoy? It feels like my brain is about to explode."

Luckily enough, Harry's condition had not gotten any worse...at least, not while Draco had been around. The blonde had spent the greater part of the last week and a half at Grimmauld Place with Harry, though he hadn't been particularly enthusiastic about sleeping in the run down house.

"Why don't you do us both a favor and just let it explode. You'd be dead and cured, and I'd be the great man who made it happen."

The first couple nights Draco had stayed simply because he hadn't wanted to go back home. He had said that his father would calm down after a few days and he would be able to get out of Harry's way. But Harry hadn't minded the company.

"Keep running your mouth and it might just happen."

Draco went home just like he said he would, only to return the next morning to find Harry bedridden with a cold fever. As soon as the Slytherin had left him the night before, everything crashed in on him all at once; his distress about abandoning Ron, his guilt about not believing Ginny, not to mention his repulsion at the sickness of his own thoughts about a certain blonde. The intensity had multiplied ten fold, drowning him in a sea of icy anguish.

"Are you implying that I talk too much?"

He had felt Draco enter the house. He had felt his every step up the stairs, and when he had entered the room it had been like taking a breath and realizing that there had been no air before. The blonde had stayed with him the entire day, until his fever was down, until the pain was gone—until he was inhaling nothing but the deep luscious air that was Draco.

"Not exactly. I'm simply saying that your voice is very, very annoying…_and_ that you talk too much."

And yet, the whole while Draco had still kept to his promise. Oh sure, he would allow Harry to hold onto his arm when the nausea spells were at their worst, but there was a significant difference between touching and being touched. Harry hadn't really noticed that until now, but he supposed it sometimes took the loss of something in order to realize what it really was. And the fact that they hadn't touched much before only made the difference more pronounced. There was a certain intimacy in the sharing of an embrace, or the occasional brush of a hand, and now that the gestures were merely one sided, Harry feared that his already unstable friendship with Draco had taken a turn for the worse.

"I can't believe you just said that! Take it back!"

He only thought that, however, because Draco seemed to be dealing with Harry's situation far worse than Harry himself. Harry noticed that the blonde had been eating and sleeping exponentially less and less. If Draco had been thin before, it was nothing in comparison to now. There was a certain sallow color in the tone of his skin, and the shadows under his bloodshot eyes seemed to pull darkness into his face. Harry imagined it had something to do with the other boy's dreams. Harry hadn't seen much more into the Slytherin's nightmares, but he had seen enough to know that Draco was being tainted by something. But what Harry really didn't understand, was why he was seeing Draco's dreams in the first place. It only happened now on the nights that Draco slept in the room closest to Harry…as if their nearness gave them some sort of mental connection. But that wouldn't make sense. When Harry had had his first dream about Draco, the blonde hadn't been within miles.

"Hey, Gryffindors don't lie."

Draco scowled, and flipped to a dog-tagged page in his rather thick book. "Here. I found you a spell."

Harry leaned over, trying to pay more attention to the heading at the top of the page than the way Draco's breath felt against the small of his neck. "The Dementor's Peck?"

"I think they were trying to be ironic." Draco gave an amused smirk, "But come on think about it. So far the only definitive cure we have found for the spell is death, right? I mean it's saying something that we even found that much. Most books just say the spell is a myth."

Harry nodded hesitantly.

"Well!" Draco pointed down at the book with a little too much enthusiasm, "The book says that this spell can simulate a Dementor's Kiss. It's a spell that retrieves the soul from the body. And if a body has no soul, then it's technically dead isn't it?"

Harry paled, "Er—well yeah I suppose…but is there a section saying how to bring me back to life?"

Draco lips quirked in a confused manner. He glanced down at the page, and then back up at Harry. "Well, no, it doesn't have—you know—_specific_ instructions on how to bring the person back to life."

"Does it even say if it can be done?"

"Well…no, but come on it can't really be that hard!"

"Malfoy!" Harry fumed, "This is my life we're talking about here!"

"I'm sure the soul goes right back in where it came from." Draco flashed him a persuasive grin, "Take it out, put it back in—you'll be cured before tea time!"

"Draco." The Gryffindor warned.

The blonde batted his eyes, "We can hold hands and skip afterwards if you'd like."

"You're making my headache worse."

"Funny how I can make it both worse and better. I must be talented, or—what's that word—ambidextrous? No, that has to do with your body doesn't it—"

"Malfoy this is serious! Can't you stop being an arrogant smartass Slytherin for just one second?" Harry flared, perhaps a bit too meanly. He saw Draco stiffen. There was a long moment of silence, during which Harry felt himself redden in frustration at his short temper.

"So we're not doing the spell then?" the blonde said coolly.

"No."

"Fine." Draco unfolded the page corner and slammed the book shut. He didn't grab for another.

Harry tried to ignore him, not wanting to encourage another one of Draco's petulant tantrums, but as he stared down at his book he couldn't help but feel a ridiculous guilt for what he had said. The dark haired boy gave a heavy sigh, "Look, Malfoy, I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm just—I don't know—frustrated we haven't found anything is all."

"I can't believe you called me an arrogant smartass." Draco stared sulkily down at the table.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't even clever."

Harry shook his head, trying not to smile, "I know."

"I mean, you're the one who's always a smartass. Not me."

Harry suppressed a chuckle, "Malfoy, come on, you have to admit that you're a bit of a smartass."

"Am not!" the blonde returned, sending Harry a sidelong look, "I'm just cursed with a great sense of humor, that a person with your bounded brain capacity obviously can't comprehend."

Harry didn't hold back his mirthful laugh this time. "Hey, Malfoy?"

"What? And if you're even thinking about spitting another one of your stupid Gryffindor comebacks at me I swear I'll—"

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

Draco faltered. He turned to Harry full on, "Excuse me?"

"I asked if you want to get out of here."

The blonde's head gave a sharp jerk, "No, I heard what you said. I want to know what the hell you meant by it."

Harry's eyes widened in realization, "Oh! No! I didn't mean just you! I meant you and me, together."

Draco's pale brows furrowed, but he remained silent, which at least meant he was willing to listen.

Harry closed his book, casting the other boy a cautious smile, "Look, we've been coming to this library every day for the past ten days. I mean, I think I've read more books in the past week than I did in my entire six years at Hogwarts."

"Which isn't really saying much I'd wager."

"Malfoy."

"Right, being serious. Continue."

"I just think we should take a day to relax." Harry's bottom lip curled under his teeth, "You know, go get some coffee, or have a meal that isn't pasta. Or, we could just walk through a park or something if you'd prefer."

Draco took an overly long time to respond, "So you want us to go out on a date?"

"Huh? What!"

"What you're describing," Draco gestured with his hand, "sounds an awful lot like a date."

Harry shook his head vigorously, "What? No nononono—a date? Of course it's not a date! Guys can go out and do things together without it being a date."

"So it's normal for you to go to a nice coffee café with your male friends and enjoy a pleasant stroll through the park afterwards?"

Harry's tongue darted over his dry lips. "Well…um…no I guess Ron and I never really did any of those things." His lips twitched nervously, and for some reason his heart was pounding so fiercely he could feel his chest move with its beat. "Well, fine, we can go to a bar or something."

"No," Draco said with a soft smile that sent pleasant chills down Harry's spine, "I like coffee. And I like parks too."

The Gryffindor stilled, "Um—all right, well…then uh—"

"Don't get too excited, Potter." The blonde smirked and rose to his feet, "I never kiss on a first date. I'm a prude like that." Draco turned and sauntered off towards the exit with a pronounced bounce in his step, leaving Harry to stare after him, gaping.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

**_(Later that evening…)_**

"Malfoy!" Harry called, unable to hide the slight laughter in his voice, "I said I was sorry!"

"I don't care, Potter!" The blonde was storming down the streets of London yelling at the top of his lungs, while Harry was trying his best to follow. Needless to stay, a lot of people were beginning to stare. "And you can't really be all that sorry seeing as you're back there laughing your arse off!"

Harry grabbed for Draco's arm and missed, "Malfoy! Come on, you're being ridiculous!"

"I'm not!" Draco whirled on him, and by now people were stopping in their tracks. The situation would've reminded Harry of that day in Diagon Alley save for the fact that this time, neither boy seemed to notice blatant stares they were receiving. "Look!" the blonde gestured, "You've ruined my shirt!"

Harry glanced down at the deep-green collared shirt, noticing how, in the light, a few dark droplets of coffee stain could in fact be seen. Harry grimaced, "I hardly think that counts as ruining your shirt, Malfoy."

"It does so!" Draco turned and began to walk again. "And you did it on purpose! This is sabotage!"

"I did not do it on purpose!"

"Yes you did!"

"You were trying to steal my coffee!" Harry rebutted.

"I asked for it first!"

Harry scoffed, "And I quote 'Potter, you four eyed Gryffindor dunder-head, I'm out of coffee. Give me yours or I will end you.' End quote."

"See!" Draco turned sharply, very nearly knocking an elderly man into a street pole, "I did ask, and ever so politely I might add."

"Well you didn't have to try and steal it from me!"

"You were being obstinate."

"I was trying to drink _my_ coffee! Why didn't you just go get yourself another?"

"I couldn't just _go and get_ another coffee Potter, you twit. I have to have it brought to me, like every other properly spoiled child does."

"Well then you could have asked me to get you some more." Harry said, exasperated yet still smiling.

"That would have taken too long."

"Oh, and I suppose you always require immediate gratification?"

"When it comes to coffee yes. How else do you think I stay cute and perky all day?"

"I hardly think you seemed cute and perky when you threw that fit in the café."

"See! My cute perkiness was lost because you wouldn't give me your coffee! And on top of that you had to massacre my shirt _and_ throw a bagel at me!"

"Merlin, don't bring that damn bagel into this, Malfoy!"

"You threw that piece of stale crusted bread at my face!"

"It was in self defense! You practically threw yourself across the table to get my cup!"

"And this somehow warrants bagel throwing? What about those poor starving children in China, Potter? Huh? Do you see them throwing bagels around? I think not!"

"Malfoy?"

Draco whirled to face him once more, his face bright with feeling, "What, Potter?"

Harry grinned, "You're kind of cute when you're angry."

Draco's eyes widened ever so slightly, and his cheeks flamed a hot pink that drowned out the previous gray tone of his skin. His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally spoke, "You're buying me a new shirt, Potter—you damn ponce."

Draco turned and stormed off once more, and Harry followed smiling from ear to ear. The people on the street shared questioning glances before finally shrugging the boys off and heading on their way, most thinking that they were mistaken when they thought that the boys they had seen were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. After all, Harry Potter—in all of his heroic masculinity and manly manliness—would never under _any_ circumstance call another boy cute.

Several minutes later found the two boys standing outside a clothing store with a fancy sign that read _Emporio Armani_ fashioned in large silver letters over the entrance. The blonde gave self-appreciating smirk before sauntering through the frosted double glass doors. Harry entered more cautiously, and was immediately greeted by the scent of expensive fabric and freshly polished leather.

"Hello boys!" A cheerful looking witch dressed in a snappy pinstriped suit greeted. "Is there anything in particular I could help you look for?" Her bright eyes grazed across the two boys and suddenly widened with recognition, "Why! Mister Malfoy! I didn't realize it was you! Welcome back! And I see you've brought Harry Potter with you!" She giggled in that bubbly sort of way that only girls can giggle.

"Marcia, do try to be less annoying." Draco scoffed, "Anyway, I've only brought Potter here because he's going to be buying me a new shirt." He fingered his green shirt, pointing at it with obvious disdain, "See? He ruined this one."

The witch Draco had called Marcia squinted and peered down at his shirt. A few moments of silence passed before the young witch finally nodded, "Yes, yes I see. It _is_ quite a stain."

Draco took a moment to cast Harry a 'see I told you so' look before returning his attention to Marcia. "Pull out all of your newest in stock and set it out for me."

Harry choked, "All of it?"

"Yes." He shooed Marcia away.

"But we're only here to get one shirt!"

Draco began to make his way to the back of the store, clearly expecting to be followed. "Well I have to make sure to get one that will look good on me. As a Malfoy, I must always look better than everyone else."

Harry trailed after him pleading, "So that means you have to try on _all_ the shirts they have?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco's brow arched, "I'm only trying on all the _new_ shirts. I already have all the ones out on display."

Harry made an exasperated noise and watched Draco disappear into a dressing room that was so large Harry could've probably lived quite comfortably in it. The blonde suddenly reappeared in the doorway and favored him with a coy smile, "Maybe you'll consider this a lesson well learned—spill coffee on my shirt and suffer the financial consequences."

"I didn't—" Harry was cut off as Draco closed the heavy door. The Gryffindor proceeded to mutter a rather impressive string of curses before throwing himself onto a bench just outside the dressing room. He crossed his arms over his chest, committed to sulking for the rest of the evening. That boy could be such an arse sometimes! So what if he was cute when he was angry. Harry felt his face heat into a blush. What had he been thinking, saying something like that? Ridiculous.

Marcia appeared around the corner a short while later, a large pile of clothing draped impossibly over her arms. She knocked before entering the dressing room and closed the door behind her. Silence ensued, and Harry frowned. Why in the world had she gone into the dressing room? He'd never heard of a salesperson going _inside_ someone's dressing room before. What business did she have in there anyway?

Harry's frown deepened as he felt something akin to jealousy churn in his stomach. This was stupid. He was overreacting. There was nothing to get flustered about. She was probably just setting out the clothes for Draco so he could make his choice more quickly.

Several minutes passed and still Marcia had not emerged. To make matters worse, he could hear the sound of her soft giggling voice hum from behind the door. Harry rose to his feet and sat back down several times, chewing distractedly on the inside of his cheek. Okay, he was simply being childish now. It wasn't like anything was going on between Draco and Marcia. Laughter rang from the dressing room, and Harry scowled despite himself. And even if there was something going on, what did Harry care? It wasn't any of his business who Draco decided to spend his time with…or snog in a dressing room.

Harry's hands fisted his jeans. _I don't care. It's no big deal. Damn this spell! It's not supposed to make me jealous_! His breath hitched, _Not that I'm jealous. No. Definitely not jealous. Oh, Merlin. What if I am? Does that mean I'm gay_? What did it mean to be gay anyway? Did it simply mean that one preferred the bodies of males over females? Or, did a man fall in love with someone who just happened to be of the same sex? Did love know the boundaries of male and female? Should love even be limited to those boundaries? Then something dawned on Harry; something that he didn't much like.

A few minutes later, Harry's attention was pulled towards the sound of an opening door. Marcia came out first, wearing a bright smile that made Harry's blood curdle, and she was closely followed by Draco, who was sporting an absolutely stunning looking dark maroon button-down. Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the blonde like a magnet to metal. The shirt clung to his body in a way that transformed his thinness into a lithe muscularity, and the blonde's face seemed to glow even in the dim light. Maybe Harry didn't give fashion enough credit.

"How do I look?" Draco posed and smirked flirtatiously.

Marcia chuckled under her breath, her eyes passing between the two boys, but Harry hardly noticed. His mouth had become suddenly dry, and he had to swallow several times before his mouth allowed him to speak. "You look—ah" there was no other word for it, "amazing."

Draco's smile widened genuinely, "You think so? I'm not so sure about the color though. I mean…it's a bit Gryffindor."

"I—I like the color." Harry replied stiffly, not liking the way his heart was pounding uncontrollably in his chest.

"I agree." Marcia interjected, "That color becomes you."

"Very well, you've all convinced me." Draco began to unbutton the shirt, "Potter can buy this one. Marcia, you'll box up the rest up and put them on my credit won't you?"

"Of course." The witch gave a small bow before disappearing into the dressing room.

Harry's entire body went on lockdown as he stared at the blonde. Button by button the shirt opened, revealing the smooth skin beneath. It was enough to set Harry's nerves afire. Draco however, didn't seem to notice for his attention was focused on the shirt.

The blonde peeled the dark fabric from his torso and folded the fabric with a becoming delicacy. He then started forward, and Harry felt his breath quicken with each step. Draco's arms extended, offering Harry the shirt.

Time slowed as their eyes met. Confusion flickered in Draco's grey depths, "You all right there, Potter?"

The air around Harry smelled of soap and expensive cologne, and it lulled his mind into a fuzzy a haze. He remembered with an acute vividness how that skin felt beneath his hands. He remembered the way that chest arched beneath his touch and the way the muscles would tighten with each breath. He remembered—

"Potter?"

Harry snapped to attention. "Huh? What?"

"I asked if you were all right."

"Oh? Yeah." Harry took the shirt and nodded a bit too enthusiastically. And with a wave of utter embarrassment, the Gryffindor turned and fled.

He reached the checkout counter short of breath and covered in a thin film of sweat. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. _Get a hold of yourself, Harry_! he berated. _Merlin, I can't believe I was just staring at him like that_! _Ugh_!

Marcia appeared shortly after, a strange sort of smile on her face. She took the shirt from Harry and smoothed it out. Harry blushed. He hadn't realized he had crumpled the shirt in his retreat. Damn Malfoy for doing this to him.

"I think Mister Malfoy likes you very much." Marcia said, doing a good job of looking preoccupied with folding the shirt in gold tissue paper.

Harry felt his jaw tense, "Oh?" What kind of a comment was that?

"He's one of the most available bachelors in England, did you know?" She raised her head only to give him a girlish grin, "I read it in Witch Weekly. You're in it too of course. But I suppose that issue came out quite a while ago." She paused only to sigh dramatically. "Imagine how disappointed all your admirers will be."

"Excuse me?"

"When they find out that you're dating Mister Malfoy."

The Gryffindor blanched. "Huh?" it sounded more like a squeak than an actual word.

"No need to deny it, hun." Marcia laughed, "I mean, it's horribly obvious."

"Hey! What? No!" Harry waved his hands, "You've got it all wrong! I'm not—I mean—we're not—and I would never…"

Marcia raised a dark brow, "Really?"

"Yes!—I mean no!" Harry yelped.

The witch gave a halfhearted shrug, "Maybe. Your total will be 40 galleons."

With nervous shaking hands, Harry wrote the woman a check. His fingers could barely grip the pen he was so flustered. She took the check with an ear-to-ear grin, "You know, you can't blame me for thinking it. I mean, not many boys go shopping together, much less tell each other they look _amazing_ in a shirt."

Harry didn't know how much embarrassment one person could take in a day, but he had a feeling he was reaching his limit. "Well…we're not, so…"

"And does Mister Malfoy know that?" her eyes flickered over his shoulder.

Harry would've questioned her if he hadn't at that very moment felt an intense heat at his back. Arms slid around his waist to lean on the counter's edge, not touching, but close enough that Harry could feel the warmth of them envelope him. Then a hot breath stirred his hair and Harry thought his heart might stop. "Harry?" Draco's voice purred in his ear, each syllable sending white-hot jolts down Harry's spine, "Have you paid for my shirt yet? We're wasting an evening that we could spend doing much _better_ things."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Malfoy, I'm going to fucking kill you!"

But Harry's threats were lost on Draco, who was currently too busy laughing to give anything much attention. The two boys had gotten back to Grimmauld Place almost an hour ago, but Harry's temper was still flaming and Draco's amusement was far from sated.

The blonde leaned against the wall of the entryway, clutching at his stomach and making absolutely no attempt to calm himself. "Oh, Potter" he laughed, "you should've seen your face!"

"I mean it, Malfoy! I don't need a wand! I can do it with my bare hands if I like!"

"And then—and then" Draco was almost beyond the point of speech, "when you tried to take the bag from Marcia—"

"Malfoy, it's not funny!" Harry slammed his fist into the wood right next to Draco's head. The blonde gave a startled jump and immediately sobered.

"Potter," the Slytherin said, blinking his tears of laughter away, "it was just a bit of fun. And it serves you right, spilling coffee on me like that. Don't even get me started on the bagel."

Harry leered and closed in on the other boy, "Yeah, well it may be fun for you, but did you even stop to think about what the hell was going through _my_ mind?"

Draco scowled, glancing between Harry's eyes and the arm that hovered just over his right shoulder. The blonde was trapped, and he knew it. "Potter," he sneered, "stop overreacting."

"Overreacting!" Harry slammed his fist once more, "I'm under a fucking love spell here, Malfoy! And then you go and—"

"And what, Potter?" The blonde straightened, refusing to be intimidated.

"You tease me! I never know what's real and what's not with you! And I don't know it with me anymore either! All the books said the bond was just supposed to be physical, but today with Marcia—"

A strange expression flashed across Draco's pale features, "What does Marcia have to with anything?"

Harry's mind gave a violent spin and he realized that he had said too much. His hand recoiled and he stumbled back, but words were beyond his control now. "I don't know, but when she went into the dressing room with you…I thought—I felt like…"

"Potter," Draco stepped towards him gingerly, "Marcia is just a salesgirl."

"I know that!" Harry turned away, unable to take the strain of looking at the blonde any longer. "But it shouldn't matter either way should it."

"What do you mean?"

Harry whirled on him, "I mean I shouldn't _care_ if anything is going on with you and somebody else! This spell isn't supposed to make me feel things like jealousy!" Harry took a deep ragged breath, "What if this spell is more than it seems? What if I'm actually falling in lo—"

"It's impossible," Draco inserted before Harry could finish.

"And what if its not?"

"Then we'll fix it." There was a certain desperate wildness in Draco's eyes that Harry couldn't comprehend. "We haven't even covered half the books we pulled together!"

Something about the Slytherin's words made Harry's eyes prickle; something that was hoping that maybe…just maybe…Draco didn't want the situation fixed. Was everything the other boy ever did or said really feigned? Was _any_ of it real? "What if we do fix it," their eyes locked as they moved together almost imperceptibly, "but this thing that I'm feeling…is still here?"

Draco teetered, his weight shifting from foot to foot as if he didn't quite remember how to stand. "I don't like talking about things that can't happen."

"But what if it did? Would you care?"

"Of course I woul—" Draco began breathlessly, but caught himself. The shadows on his face multiplied, and he made a sudden turn towards the door, "I don't know what you're trying to say, Potter."

"I'm trying to say that I think I might feel something for you!"

Draco's hand moved to the doorknob, "It's just the spell. Stop thinking this is something that it's not."

Harry's entire body was surging, "But what if I'm thinking it's something that it is!"

"And what do you think would come of it?" Draco flared, turning his head back towards Harry. His eyes were blazing, and his shoulders trembled with some unknown emotion. "Do you think our lives are simply ours to decide? We have both have our obligations, Potter!"

"Obligations? To whom!"

"Me to my family! You to the entire fucking wizarding world! I'm expected to get married and produce an heir! And you! You're Harry fucking Potter! The _entire world_ looks to you! What do you think they would say about us? Two men! You're supposed to be with Ginny! That's the way it's supposed to be!"

Harry's throat felt tight and painfully choked. Hope fell from his chest like a weight, leaving nothing but black hollow space. But then he realized something—Draco, in all of his excuses, had never once directly said he didn't want to be with Harry.

"This is why I don't believe in love, Potter." Draco was facing the door again. "It messes everything up. Please, let's just drop it."

The blonde threw opened the door, and his foot lifted to step through the doorway. "No!" Harry swung his arm forward and the door slammed shut with such force that the edges of the wood splintered.

Draco spun, wide eyed. "Potter?"

"I don't want to just drop it! I want you to give me a straight answer!" The lights began to flicker dangerously—dimming and then bursting with light.

"Potter?"

"I want to know that everything I'm feeling isn't all just a lie! I'm so confused I hardly know what to do with myself, and I can't help but think that—"

"Harry!"

"What!"

The Slytherin smiled, "Congratulations. I think you just got your magic back."

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

So that was fun right? Yay for bonding times!

**Warning: Reviewing may lead to more slash. If you don't like slash, please refrain from reviewing. ;)**


	20. Beautiful Disaster

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and innuendo

**Warnings**: future slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: I did promise more slash if you guys reviewed, so here you go! Hopefully it's not too disappointing D:

P.S. If you haven't listened to Kelly Clarkson's song "Beautiful Disaster", you totally should go listen! It definitely goes with the mood at the end of this chapter (only to the live version though!) The lyrics basically built my Draco into what he is today. I guess you could say it's my own personal theme-song for him :)

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_He drowns in his dreams_

_An exquisite extreme I know._

_He's as damned as he seems_

_And more heaven than a heart could hold._

_And if I try to save him, my whole world could cave in._

_It's just not right._

_Oh, and I don't know, I don't know what he's after_

_But he's so beautiful, such a beautiful disaster._

_And if I could hold on through the tears and the laughter_

_Would it beautiful or just a beautiful disaster?_

-Kelly Clarkson

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

"You know," Draco said with an amused sort of chuckle, "you don't have to use magic to turn every single blasted page."

"Yes I do." Harry stuck out his tongue at the other boy in childish mockery, before using his wand to guide the next thin sheet of paper in his book from right to left.

It was early on a Thursday morning, and the eleventh straight day the two boys had spent in the library. An uncomfortable silence held them as they read their books. Harry was undoubtedly delighted by the return of his magic and had spent most of the previous evening testing out his wand. The downside however, was that once his conversation with Draco had been broken, Harry couldn't muster up the courage to bring up the subject again.

"It says here," Draco spoke, leaning over his book, "that the spell can only be passed physically. The spell must be bound to an object or a potion, but has been rumored to be able to be cast through…" The blonde's lips curled.

"Through what?"

Draco looked at him briefly, "Through acts of intimacy."

Harry felt himself flush uncontrollably. "What? Like…sex?"

"I suppose." The Slytherin shrugged.

"Weird."

"You didn't have sex with my gate did you?"

"What? No! Ew!"

Draco raised his hands defensively, "Hey, it was a viable enough question."

Harry's face contorted, "Why would I have sex with a gate?"

"People have their fetishes."

"_How_ would I have sex with a gate?"

"You're the one who would know."

Harry's brows knitted, "You are so disgusting."

"Well," Draco sighed and closed his book, "at least we know that it was definitely the gate that did this to you. I mean, I think you would've noticed if you'd taken a potion…or had sex. Then again, maybe I'm overestimating your levels of perception." The blonde grabbed for another book from the stack, a perplexed look plastered on his features, "Though I still don't get why my father would put a love spell on our front gate."

"Maybe he wanted his enemies to be under the spell so they wouldn't pose a threat."

"Perhaps," the other boy nodded, "but what if a family friend had come by and touched the gate by accident?"

"You mean like I did?"

"No. You're not a family friend."

"Oh," Harry replied sheepishly, somewhat stung, "right."

"But, all things considered, that's a pretty intense spell, even for him. I mean, we have several wards around the house, most of which are meant to kill, but we've never had anything like _that_ on our front gate before. There's only ever been a stunning spell—which you also came into contact with I believe." Draco's mouth set into a hard thin line, "I wonder why he didn't tell me about it."

Harry didn't know what to say. No one hated Lucius Malfoy more than he did, and yet, a part of him always hoped that there were some redeeming qualities in the man. A part of him hoped that maybe Draco would one day have the type of father he deserved. Families were not meant to have secrets. And the Malfoys…were nothing but secrets.

"Have you found anything new?" Draco asked, snapping Harry from his reverie.

The Gryffindor shook his head, "Nothing."

"Figures."

The blonde returned to his reading, looking about as tired as Harry felt. Yesterday had been a nice break from all the reading, but the events of last night had them both exhausted. Harry hadn't slept a wink thanks to his befuddled state, and somehow, he knew Draco hadn't slept at all either.

He was tired of not knowing how he felt. He was tired of being confused. It was all so exhausting. This constant heat—this constant yearning, had him worn to the quick. He was through with not knowing. "Hey, Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

Harry tried not to pay attention to his words, because he knew he would regret them if he did. "What was your idea about the Elder Wand?"

Draco's face became white and blank as he turned towards the other boy. "I thought that you didn't want to—"

"Just tell me."

"Well," his head tilted slightly, as if he were attempting to see through Harry's lucid expression, "it's quite simple actually. I mean, if it really is the most powerful wand ever created, I was thinking that a simple _Finite Incantatum _might do the trick."

Harry propped his elbows up on the table and placed his chin in his palms. "Do you really think it could work?"

"I think it's worth a try. It's better to know, isn't it?" Draco opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it shortly afterward, apparently struggling with something.

Harry brows drew together, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's just…" the blonde's bottom lip rolled under his teeth as he turned his gaze down to the table. His eyes went suddenly dim, "There's a lot of really dark magic in the world, Potter. I know—I've seen it. And some of it—some of it just shouldn't be messed with. Some of it is just…too dark."

Harry frowned, wondering where this sudden mood had stemmed from. "Like Horcurxes you mean?" he asked.

Draco looked up at him, and Harry felt his heart flutter. "Yes. Like Horcruxes."

"But…not magic like this right? A love spell can't be that dark."

"I don't think so, no," Draco said gently, "but I think that wand is the best bet you've got."

"Okay." Harry gave the blonde a soft smile, "Tonight, I'll take you to where it is, and we'll see if it works."

Draco's expression didn't quite reach his eyes, "You don't have to take me if you don't want to."

"No, I want you to be there." Harry made a low indistinct sound indicating his own wariness. "I don't know if I can do it alone."

The day passed by with a dreadful slowness, filled mostly with awkward silences and halfhearted reading. Harry glanced down at his watch for perhaps the millionth time that day. The digital lights blinked 7:38 PM. Harry's nose wrinkled. It was late enough. "Come on." Harry rose from his seat without another utterance and made towards the exit. Draco too rose and followed without question.

The streets of London were unusually barren that evening. Streetlights loomed tall over the cobbled streets, their muted yellow glow reflecting in the muddy water that pooled along the curb. Hot July air filled Harry's lungs, and he found himself overwhelmed by one of those brief moments where reality seemed all too real.

Draco was suddenly at his side, his sharp grey eyes searching Harry's expression. "I can Apparate us anywhere you like. I've been practicing."

Harry kept his feet moving, for the strange need to keep the feel the wind on his face. "How close to Hogwarts can you get us?"

"Hogwarts?" The blonde froze and momentarily fell behind before running to catch back up. "You're keeping the wand at Hogwarts? Where? Did they rebuild the Room of Requirement? Is it with a professor?"

"I asked how close you could get us."

Draco huffed indignantly, "I can Apparate us into the Forbidden forest."

"That's good enough." Harry stopped, grabbing Draco by the arm. He suppressed a gasp as electricity surged through his hand up into his body like a wild beast, and sank its fangs into his heart.

The blonde retrieved his wand from his back pocket, his breath as equally heavy and ragged as Harry's. There was a moment where there was nothing but a sea of grey and green, and then came a sharp pull, and a roaring wind. All became black as Harry felt himself being thrown forward. Then all too suddenly he was falling. He hit the ground with a sounding thud, his grip slipping from Draco's arm, and his mouth rapidly filling with the taste of leaves and dirt.

The sound of laughter rang from above. "I think you're taking the saying 'eat dirt' way too literally, Potter." Draco sounded amused.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, spitting mud from his mouth. "Sod off, Malfoy." He removed his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt as a cold shiver took hold of him. The forest was much cooler than the warm streets of London.

He pushed the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and blinked at the dark forest. "Any idea which way Hogwarts is?"

Draco smirked knowingly as he held his wand flat in the palm of his hand. He muttered some simple tracking spell under his breath. The wand gave several circular spins before finally stopping to point in an easterly direction. "That way."

"Right." Harry nodded and started forward.

Twenty minutes passed before the trees finally started to thin—minutes mostly filled with Draco complaining about how the dirt was staining his expensive Italian leather shoes. Harry, however, remained silent the entire way. His heart was hammering like thunder in his chest. He had vowed that the Elder Wand would stay with Dumbledore in his grave until the day he died. Yet here he was, barely a month and a half gone by, already retrieving the wand for his own selfish needs. But he would only need it once…just this once.

Entering the unsheltered light of the moon was like stepping into the sun from the dark, and Harry found himself moving more quickly despite himself, as if the moonlight would suddenly alert Hogwarts of their presence. The grass on the Hogwarts grounds was dry and crunched under their feet as they walked. To Harry, the noise sounded like the crackling of a fire. _Hagrid must be on holiday_, he thought absently in speculation of the dry lawn. And then he saw it, shining like a white beacon in the night: Dumbledore's grave.

Harry trekked towards the grave with ever-waning determination. Draco's voice was suddenly at his side, "There? You hid it there? But it's such an—"

"Obvious place?" Harry finished for him. He flashed the blonde a wry smile, "Isn't that why it's the perfect spot? Things hidden in plain sight are sometimes the hardest to find."

"Don't start getting all philosophical on me, Potter. I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to think so hard."

Harry threw the other boy an empty glare but otherwise remained silent. They came up upon the white marble tomb, somber silence falling in a veil around them. Tears gathered at the back of Harry's eyes as he stared down at the grave. He remembered Dumbledore's death vividly…too vividly, as if it were an image branded in his mind serving only to remind him of yet another person he wasn't strong enough to save.

"I never wanted him dead." Draco's voice was a soft whisper on the wind. He ran a long pale hand along the edge of the marble, "I mean…I never much liked the man, and I don't think he particularly cared for me either but…I never wanted him dead."

Harry's pressed his eyes shut against the tears. He knew Draco hadn't wanted Dumbledore dead, but it meant something more when it was said aloud. "It had to happen the way it did. Snape knew, and Dumbledore knew too."

There was a long pause. "He must've had a lot of faith in you, to feel like he could leave you on your own like he did."

Harry laughed ruefully, turning his face up towards the night sky. "Yeah. I don't know why though."

"I do."

Harry's eyes flicked open and he looked at Draco. The blonde was smiling at him in one of those beautiful smiles that so rarely graced his face, and Harry couldn't hold back the silent tears that dropped down his cheeks. He exhaled forcefully and stepped away from the grave, "You're going to have to get it. I don't think I can."

"All right, Harry." The Gryffindor turned away, drawing his arms close to his chest and gripping at the fabric of his shirt. The chill in the air was strange for a July evening, and Harry couldn't help but feel that what they were doing was wrong. But he couldn't wait any more.

Draco muttered a soft "_Wingardium Leviosa_," and there was the distinct sound of grinding stone on stone. A few moments later the sound came again, followed by the supple sound of approaching footsteps. "Here you are."

The wand appeared in front of him, clutched in the security of Draco's thin fingers. Harry took it from the blonde, handling it like the sacred thing it was. It really did look like any other wand—or maybe he'd just seen it so often that it seemed ordinary. He turned to face the blonde, his brow creasing, "What do you think I should do?"

"Just try the spell."

Harry nodded curtly, "Right. I'll try." He closed his eyes and held the wand firmly before him, concentrating all his energy into this one spell. Magic flowed through his veins like some live thing, bending and shaping at Harry's will. "_Finite Incantatum_!" He flourished the wand with unfaltering accuracy, and placed the tip to his chest. Warmth flickered like a wavering flame at the tip of his wand, lingering for but a second before it rushed across his body and enveloped him in a blanket of a strange yet soothing heat. There was a bright flash from behind the darkness of his lids, and then nothing but the chill of a cool wind.

Unspoken moments of expectation lingered in the air. "There was a light." Draco sounded breathless. "Does that mean it worked?"

Harry blinked several times, lowering the wand hand to his side. "I don't know." He…well he did feel different. Breathing seemed easier to him now, as if there had been a weight there before that was now removed. His nerves still buzzed Draco's presence at his side, and yet the usual pain that accompanied it had transformed into a warm glow that filled Harry with a strange sort of tickling excitement. He still felt different, but not in the same way as before. Did that mean the spell was broken? And if so…did that mean he had been right in thinking that Draco had meant something to him beyond what the spell had made?

He turned to the blonde, "I don't know," he repeated, "But I know how to find out." In one step, the space between them closed into nothing. Harry's left hand rose to hover just above the exposed skin of Draco's neck, and it tingled in anticipation of the touch. "Can I?"

Draco's chest was rising and falling a bit too rapidly. "Yes."

And then Harry's hand was on Draco's neck, and the chill of the night disappeared as if it had never been. There was heat, yes, but it was nothing like before. It was lighter now; caressing him with butterfly wings. He waited for it; the overwhelming crash of uncontrollable need that burned him like an all consuming fire, but it didn't come. There was only a pressing yearning that drummed in his chest, still and strong, but more pleasant than painful. Harry's head dipped forward until their noses touched and he could taste Draco in his breath.

The blonde trembled beneath him, his chest now rising and falling in ragged bursts. "Harry?" he questioned in a shaky voice.

"It's different from before." Harry's voice was a low tinted whisper, "But it's the same too, somehow." Harry gazed at the blonde, for once feeling like he had a secure hold over this untamable emotion. He was waiting; looking for something—anything—that would tell him that Draco could feel this thing that had Harry stirred so. He needed to know that this—whatever it was—wasn't just some twist in the spell. He needed to know if it was real.

His hand kneaded against the velvet skin of Draco's neck, eliciting from the blonde the smallest of sounds. A sound of wanting. A sound of needing. It plucked Harry's heat like the strings of a harp…and it was all he needed. He pressed forward, his lips meeting Draco's softly, questioning.

The blonde made a muffled sound of surprise and for a fearful moment, Harry thought the other boy was going to pull away like before. But then, in a flickering moment forever suspended in time, Draco's mouth moved beneath his, and the taste of peppermint and cider flooded into Harry's mouth—nectar to a parched tongue. Slender hands worked their way up Harry's torso to sit on his shoulders, and it was all too much. Eleven days of watching those hands. Eleven days spent craving a touch he knew he couldn't have. Eleven torturous days thinking that the anguish would never end. And now, those hands branded him, and reminded him what it was like to feel _true_ fire. His eyes fluttered closed as the Elder Wand fell from his fingers to hit the ground in silence, and his newly freed hand slipped around Draco's back to pull the blonde closer.

Mouths moved, hungry and eager. Teeth clacked, biting and nipping at lips as their tongues met and raged with insatiable fury. They pulled at each other until there was no telling where one body ended and the other started. The warm glow inside him flared and something beautiful churned in the heated coils of Harry's blood; a dark desire such as he had never felt before.

Fingers, hard and firm, dug into the cloth of Harry's shirt, "Harry," the blonde muttered breathlessly in the heat of their exchange. "What're we doing?"

Harry didn't open his eyes, "It's gone." He moved down to Draco's neck, trailing his tongue along the milky skin, tasting the salt of sweat and feeling a fleeting pulse quiver beneath his lips. "You were right. The spell worked. You were right."

The blonde gasped and arched at the vibrations that thrummed against his throat. "Then," there was a pained quality in his voice, "why are you—I shouldn't be…please don't…"

"Draco?" This time Harry did open his eyes. He pulled back to look at the other boy, worry marking his features. When the blonde opened his eyes and Harry saw that those grey depths were misted with tears, that worry turned to dread. "Draco? I didn't—are you okay?" Harry raised his hands to cup the Slytherin's cheeks, "Did I hurt you? Did I…"

"No." Draco took Harry by the wrists and lowered the hands from his face. "No you didn't." He averted his eyes, studying Harry's hands instead. His thumbs moved along the tanned skin, his brows knit together and his jaw set firm. "But…I don't understand."

"Understand what?" Harry inclined his head, trying to catch Draco's dancing eyes.

"Why you kissed me just now."

Harry smiled, and hoped the other boy would notice, "I would think that much is obvious."

Draco's ministrations abruptly stopped, "But—But you're not…"

"Maybe I just didn't know."

Draco glanced up, looking reproachful, "Didn't know? How could you not know something like that?"

Harry shrugged innocently, and moved his hands into Draco's, interlacing their fingers. "Then maybe it's just you. Do you have a problem with it?"

Draco flushed, but Harry couldn't tell if it was because he was offended or something else. "Well, no, but…but still you shouldn't have just—"

"You kissed me back you know."

"I—" Draco pulled his hands from Harry's and stepped back, "—it's not what you think it is." The blonde blinked quickly in attempt to dispel the wetness in his eyes.

Harry wanted to step after him, but didn't. Something was wrong. Harry knew Draco had a quick temper and could have a good yell with the best of them. He knew that the Slytherin's bouts of anger were most times unwarranted if not completely unprovoked. But more than all of that…Harry knew that no matter what, Draco always was in complete and in full awareness of his emotions. Discipline and control were two things that the blonde had when all else was lost. Draco was not the type to simply break down and cry in front of someone. Sneer and yell, yes, but never cry. He was far too proud for something like that. So standing there, watching Draco vainly fighting tears that welled up in his eyes, Harry knew that the other boy was beyond any normal level of upset.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked tentatively, keeping his voice gentle.

"I mean that I am not going to lose you to this!" Draco burst like a dam breaking, gesturing wildly. Hot wetness flowed freely over his cheeks, and Draco scrubbed them away with his sleeve, looking half in shock as he noticed the dark tear stains that came away.

"Draco." Harry stepped forward, only to be mirrored by Draco's step backwards. Harry's throat felt tight as he spoke, "Lose me to what?"

"To whatever that kiss meant to you!" The blonde stepped back once more, putting yet more space between them. "I can't ever be what you want, Potter! I don't believe in love remember? And you—you need it!"

Harry felt his face cave and crease as he stared at the other boy. Who had said anything about love? "That's right." Harry replied, somewhat sadistically. He was going to call Draco's bluff, or at least…what he hoped was a bluff. "You only believe in sex don't you."

Draco lowered his eyes to the ground, saying nothing.

"Well I don't believe you." Harry took his chance to step forward. "If that was true, then you wouldn't have stopped me when I kissed you! If that was really all you wanted, you wouldn't have said anything!"

"I said something for your sake not mine!" Draco flared hotly. His face, even in the white light of the moon, was quite red now, and his blonde hair hung messily in his eyes. Standing there, all tense muscles and guarded movements, he looked aged, like he had lived through unspoken horrors that were beyond his years.

"So you do admit it then!" Harry closed the distance between the two a bit more. "You do want me?"

Draco looked as if he wanted to move, as if he wanted to run. But he didn't. Instead, he remained frozen where he stood, trembling like a leaf in the wind. "This is not to be born, Harry." He suddenly threw his arms around himself, like he was trying to protect something Harry couldn't see. "We have our obligations remember? I'm supposed to end up with some nameless pureblood while you run off into the sunset with Ginny and live happily ever after! That's how the story _really_ ends!"

"It doesn't have to be that way! Why do you keep mentioning Ginny anyway? I don't love her like I used to, Draco!"

"Because—because she's the one that…" Draco's voice cracked before it finally fell into an unintelligible murmur of choked sobs.

"Draco." Harry cooed softly. Something was definitely wrong…something that Draco wasn't telling him. He made one last move towards the other boy.

"No." Draco whimpered, almost pitifully. "Please. Please don't come any closer."

But Harry didn't listen. He curled his arms around the other boy's shoulders, pulling him close. Draco's head sank against his neck and Harry only tightened his grip. He nuzzled at the blonde's ear, whispering sweet consolations while he held the shaking boy tightly against him.

"I can't do it, Harry."

Harry rubbed gently at Draco's back. "Can't do what?" he asked tenderly.

Draco pulled back just far enough to where he could look Harry in the eye. He detached his hands from his chest to bury them in the fabric of Harry's shirt. His lip quivered almost imperceptibly as he spoke, "I can't lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere." Harry's gaze narrowed, his green eyes searching the grey that stared back. Draco's tears had subsided into soft hiccups and short shallow breaths, but there was an unspoken pain that was still hidden behind that stone-like façade. "What are you so afraid of?"

The Slytherin shrugged helplessly, allowing his hazed eyes to fall. "I'm a Slytherin," he replied softly. "We're always afraid. We're just better at hiding it than everyone else."

"You don't have to be afraid," Harry said, stroking the blonde's silken hair and silently enjoying the feeling of it as it glided through his fingers, "There's nothing to be afraid of." The wind picked up, causing the air around them to ripple, unbroken by sound. "Draco?"

The other boy almost sneered, "You're such a sodding Gryffindor sometimes, you know that?"

Harry smiled softly, thankful that Draco was at least feeling up to insults. "What makes you say that?"

"Here I am, telling you that this has no way of possibly working, and you just completely ignore everything I say. You have a one track mind."

"Yeah. I think that fits the description of my mind pretty accurately."

Draco smiled at that, and Harry couldn't help but sigh with relief. There was a too short moment of comfortable silence before grey eyes became downcast, and the smile withered. "Are you sure…that the spell is gone? Are you sure that this isn't just—"

The blonde, however, was cut off as Harry lifted the other boy's chin and pressed their lips together in a sinuous kiss. The Gryffindor pulled back, all smiles, "I'm sure. It's just me now."

The other boy licked his lips and raked them under his teeth, "And you're sure that you actually still want me? I'm Draco Malfoy by the way remember? Longtime childhood rival? Enemy of the Golden Trio, tacky orange sweaters, and all things that have to do with lightning shaped scars? I've been known to hurt cute fluffy animals just for the fun of it on occasion—okay maybe I didn't really hurt them, but I've thought about it and—"

He was cut off yet again by Harry's mouth, and they laughed against each other. "I know who you are, Draco Malfoy." Harry playfully batted at the blonde's nose with his own, "But I suppose I should ask you as well. I haven't really asked if this is what you want."

"No you didn't." Draco drawled in his most devastating Slytherin voice. He leaned his forehead against Harry's, and his finger's curled harder against Harry's shirt. "But, just to make sure…you said you were _positive_ that spell is broken?"

"Malfoy!"

"I was just asking!" Draco pouted coquettishly. "Because I don't know if I trust first opinions. I think you might need to kiss me again just to make sure. Purely for scientific reasons, you understand."

Harry felt his lips curl impossibly, and he shook his head. Damn Slytherins. "I'm ever ready to oblige. For the sake of science and all."

"Good boy." Draco's lips parted in heated anticipation.

"Harry!" a shrill voice squealed; a voice that Harry was quite positive did not belong to Draco Malfoy. Both boys started as the world around them shattered, and Harry's nerves jarred so violently that for a moment he was sure he was going to be sick.

The Gryffindor whirled around, one arm lingering possessively around Draco, and paled at the sight before him. His arm dropped to his side. "Oh. 'Ello Hermione."

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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Man! They always seem to get interrupted huh? Don't worry though...the fun is just starting ;) (Sorry for all the OOCness btw...this chapter was a bit hard to write. Hope you guys still enjoyed it though)

**Reviews make me smile :)**


	21. It's My Party: Part One

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and slashy situations ;)

**Warnings**: future slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: So I made this weird deal with my bf that if he finished the latest chapter posted that I would post the next chapter on the same day...lucky for you guys he read two chapters last night and is now all caught up! *is scared* Good thing is, I'm separating this chapter in to 2 parts. The whole thing together was almost 9000 words and I thought that would just be mind numbing to get through. I'll post the second part soon!

Note: So this chapter diverts from the original canon story line in a kind of important way. I'm sure you'll notice when you get there. Please don't get all up in arms about it :( it's a vital part to my plot and I really couldn't find any other way of writing it. Anyway...hope y'all enjoy!

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Strange how we know each other_

_Strange how I fit into you_

_There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease_

_Strange how you fit into me_

_A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs_

_And with each passing day _

_The stories we say _

_Draw us tighter in our addiction_

_Confirm our conviction_

_That some kind of miracle passed on our heads_

_And how I am sure like never before_

_Of my reasons for defying reason, embracing the seasons_

_We dance through the colors_

_Both followed and led._

-Vienna Teng

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

"Harry?" Hermione squeaked once more, her voice tight with a barely reigned emotion. "What's going on here?"

Harry stirred uncomfortably beneath her gaze. "Well—er—you see—"

"What are _you_ doing here, Granger?" Draco voiced snappishly. "You look like shit by the way."

To be frank, Harry agreed with him. Her normally well-kept hair was bushed and mousy, and looked in great need of washing. She wore old tattered clothes—probably belonging to Ron—that hung limply on a frame that was looking strangely stretched. Her skin was overly pale, and dark circles were cratered beneath her murky cinnamon eyes. In a nutshell, yes, Hermione Granger looked like shit.

She glared over at the blonde, "It's none of your business why I'm here, Malfoy." she spat unkindly. Her glare moved towards Harry, but on the way, caught sight of something glinting in the moonlight. She sprung forward wildly, "The wand!" Hermione pricked the Elder Wand from the Hogwarts lawn, "What the hell is it doing on the ground! Harry! What is going on here! Why is Malfoy here! And what in Merlin's name were you doing with him when—"

"Hermione." Harry said gently, stepping forward with his arms held up in innocence. He barely recognized this girl in front of him—it wasn't like Hermione to yell. "Just calm down a bit. Let's just go back to Grimmauld Place and I'll explain everything."

She looked the boys over once more before muttering an apprehensive, "Fine." The brunette made her way over to Dumbledore's grave, where she wordlessly set the wand back in its proper place. "I can't believe you, Harry," she hissed at him under her breath.

Draco opened to his mouth to speak, but a subtle jerk of Harry's head was enough to silence him. He didn't know what yet, but something had Hermione irked.

Less than an hour later, the three found themselves perched on the front steps of number twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry mumbled the password then opened the door for Hermione. She swept through with a cold detached silence.

Harry and Draco exchanged a look. The Slytherin's pale brows were knitted firmly together, "I wonder what has Granger's panties in such a bunch." He stepped in after her, leaving Harry blushing. He had at least one idea what had Hermione so bothered. By Merlin! He couldn't believe she had caught them—doing what they were about to do!

He entered the house with a feeling that couldn't be described as anything but absolute dread. Hermione waited for him in the entryway, passing the time by glaring daggers at Draco. "I want to talk to you alone, Harry."

"What for?"

"In the kitchen. Now." She ordered, then turned on her heel and stormed off down the hall.

The firmness of a hand on his arm alerted him of Draco's presence. "Quite the bossy little Gryffindor isn't she? I'll come if you want."

"No. You shouldn't."

"You sure?"

The Gryffindor sighed heavily, his eyes drifting across the overcast hallway. "Yeah."

Draco's hand gave a soft, almost imperceptible, squeeze before it fell silently to his side. "I'll be upstairs then."

All Harry could do was nod and watch the blonde disappear up the stairs. It wasn't until he heard a door open and close that he thought to move. With a final deep breath, and a strange feeling of nervousness, he marched into the kitchen.

Hermione was standing hunched over the table, tapping her fingers irately against the wood in the same way that she did when she was dealing with a particularly hard Arithmacy problem. In the firelight, her condition looked even worse. Had she been eating properly? "Herm?" it was both a question and an announcement of his presence.

She turned slowly, running a shaky hand through her mess of hair. "I—I'm sorry I yelled at you like that—before I mean. I don't know what it is lately."

"It's all right." He replied truthfully.

"I was just so scared," she continued absently, her eyes jumping about the room, "when the alarms went off." At Harry's confused expression she launched into a quick-tongued explanation. "I have spells and wards set up around Dumbledore's grave, to alert me just in case the wrong sort get too close. You know…because of the wand. It told me Malfoy was there and I—I just—freaked."

Harry frowned, "It's understandable."

Her eyes gave a sudden jerk before finally freezing on him. "What were you doing with him anyway?"

"Huh?" Harry's stomach fluttered violently at the sudden change in Hermione's demeanor.

"When I got there." Hermione lifted her chin skeptically, "It looked almost as if you were…about to kiss him." Her eyes flickered strangely.

"Ah—well you see—about that—"

"And why did you go there? And bringing _Malfoy_ with you nonetheless! Don't you realize what a danger this poses? He knows where the wand is now, Harry! We may have to move it! Set up new protective wards and spells! Maybe even obliviate him! What were you thinking!"

Harry's shoulders sagged heavily. There was no getting around it. Hermione could read him like an open book. No lie he could spin—even if he was as adept at lying as Draco—would ever fool his fellow Gryffindor. "I swear I can explain all of it." However, that didn't mean he had to tell her the entire truth. He launched into his tale, beginning with the night he had left for Malfoy Manor—notably leaving out any mention of Ginny's accusation—and then trailed into his bout about the love spell—effectively omitting any mention of his and Draco's 'exchange'—to finally end with her meeting them just after he had cured himself using the Elder Wand. Overall he thought she took it rather well.

"You thick brained fuck!" She sputtered, shaking her head, "Why didn't you come and tell me? Or Ron? We could've helped you! A love spell? Merlin, Harry! Do you know how rare those types of things are? How hard they are to reverse?" Hermione turned her back towards him, "Only a select few Ministry officials have access to those sorts of spells. How in the world…" she trailed of, her eyes hazing in thought.

"But it's over now," Harry assured her, "it's done."

"Why didn't you tell us, Harry?"

He could tell from the soft quality in her voice that she was stung by his actions. Harry too, berated himself for his own stupidity. "I didn't—well I thought—'Mione, you remember what happened last time you were here."

"Still, Harry."

Harry crossed the room in three short strides, and gently laid his hands on her shoulders. They felt unnaturally sharp beneath his palms. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered, burying his face into the back of her hair.

Her muscles tensed and relaxed in rapid succession beneath his touch. "And what about Malfoy? Now that this spell is broken—"

"Hermione." Harry breathed, his voice pleading, "Please don't say what I think you're going to say."

"But we had that fight when you were under a spell," she replied, ever practical. "Harry, what if he's the one who did this in order to—"

Harry squeezed at Hermione's shoulders, "He didn't."

"But what if—"

"He didn't, Hermione," he insisted, a note of finality in his voice.

The brunette heaved a great sigh, but seemed to relent. "All right, Harry. If you say so." Hermione turned in his arms, looking up at him through sunken bloodshot eyes. "You really trust him, don't you."

Harry smiled down at her knowing that she, above anyone else, would really try to understand. "Yeah, I do."

A smile almost curled at the corners of her mouth, but it withered before it fully formed. "Well, I'll have you know, we miss you a lot, Harry."

"I miss you all too. More than you can imagine."

Hermione's bit her lip, and at that moment Harry couldn't help but worry about her. There was a certain glow missing from her cheeks, and the once intelligent glint in her eyes had dimmed into a grey mist. What had happened to her? It couldn't be because of the fight? "Well," she said softly, "Mrs. Weasley is still throwing a birthday party for you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. In three days. I know it's a bit early, but we had to work around some crazy schedules."

Harry nodded, feeling oddly tentative about the prospect of a large reunion. "All right. Sounds great. I'll be there."

"Great." The brunette gave an abrupt curt nod, "Show up any time you like. In the morning I guess."

"Okay." Harry's hands rubbed up and down her arms. "Are you all right, Hermione?"

"Yeah." She gave him an odd look, "Of course I am."

"You sure?"

"I need to get going." With a furrowed brow she slipped out from under his hold and made towards the door. One hand was already set and turning the knob by the time she paused. "Harry…" she drifted off and inclined her head to look at him. Her pupils were mere pinpricks in a desert of mud. "Promise me that you won't use the Elder Wand again. We agreed that it's dangerous. It needs to be forgotten…like we said."

"I won't. I promise."

"And, Harry?"

The dark haired boy cocked his head.

"Don't bring _him_. He wouldn't be welcome there, regardless of your trust."

Harry nodded distantly as something in her eyes pulled at him; making his pulse quicken and his chest tighten impossibly against his lungs. He remembered this feeling. He remembered it like he remembered breathing. And then, his scar prickled—sending a sharp jolt of pain down his spine that made his vision burst into white. "I won't, Hermione." He forced his tongue to form words, knowing very well just how choked they sounded.

After a final farewell nod Hermione was gone, and the very moment the door clicked shut, Harry's knees gave way. A wave of manic fear crashed upon him with such force he could feel its very ache seep into his bones. His scar! _What just happened? No! This wasn't supposed to happen again! He's gone! He's dead!_ _I WATCHED HIM DIE_! The sensation misted, lingering for but a breath before disappearing as if it had never been. Harry sat, his breathing sharp and quick, but feeling otherwise physically normal. In silent awe he wondered. _Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I'm overreacting. Yes. I must be imagining things. There's no way that—yes, I must be imagining things_._ But I felt it…_

Hinges squealed. "Potter?" There was the sound of wood giving under light feet and all of a sudden Draco's face was inches from his own. Ice-cold hands engulfed Harry's cheeks, causing his breathing to hitch sharply.

He saw nothing but blurs of color and darkness, as if his eyes refused to focus on the world around him, and the cold of Draco's skin began to seep into his own. Harry gripped at the thin arms, needing to feel something hard and real beneath his hands if only to make sure it all wasn't some illusion. Yes. These hands were real. Nothing else. Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the indistinguishable haze and allowed himself to fall into the velvet blackness of his mind. _I imagined it. I must have_.

"Potter!" The hands shook him slightly. "Potter look at me! Are you all right? Potter!"

_Just get control of yourself. Take a deep breath. Open your eyes and tell him everything is all right. Calm. Control. Just open your eyes_. He did. _Now tell him_. "I—Hermione she…" but he couldn't force the words from his mouth, not with that piercing gaze boring down upon him.

Draco's hands were firm on Harry's shoulders, and his fingers clutched at the moistening fabric of his collar. "What about Hermione?" The Slytherin cast a fervent look back towards the door, his grey eyes hardening into steel. He made to stand, but Harry's hand caught his wrist.

Harry gazed up at the blonde, every beat of his heart feeling like an explosion within his chest. "Stay with me. Please." Harry's voice shook despite his effort to control it.

With a last reproachful look towards the door, the blonde settled himself back to the ground and his expression softened with some unnamed emotion. Draco moved his hand slowly and intertwined their fingers. The gesture was so soft and graceful that Harry hardly realized the action.

Harry found himself oddly soothed by the caress, and he stared down at their clasped hands and wondered at it. "Did you know," he began faintly, "that my scar used to hurt?"

"Scars don't hurt, Potter. Wounds do."

"Not for me." The dark haired boy's brows furrowed together and his fingers tightened around Draco's hand. "It's not just a normal scar. My scar…is what connected me to Voldemort. It was his mark on me. And I could…feel him through it. Whenever he was close, my scar would burn—and the closer he got, the more it hurt. And whenever he would touch me…"

Draco's lips twitched nervously. "Damn, Potter, I never knew it was that bad. I never knew you were actually…connected to him."

The Gryffindor nodded distantly, his eyes flickering about in thought.

"But that's all done with now right?" There was some underlying panic in the blonde's tone—some part of him that was catching on to why Harry had brought up his scar. "I mean—I'm assuming the pain stopped after the Dark Lord died."

"I thought that too. But just now…right before Hermione left—I don't know what else it could've been—"

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that I think I felt something in my scar just now."

"But it's impossible!" Draco grabbed the hem of Harry's shirt with his free hand and yanked the other boy close. "I saw him die. I watched you kill him."

Harry was overcome with an eerie sort of calm, as if he was somehow detached from everything around him, "Everyone thought he was dead seventeen years ago. He came back. Who's to say it couldn't happen again?"

"Potter! Stop it!" Draco's hands trembled feebly before he yanked them away, his cheeks flaring with heat.

"I felt it, Draco. I did." His gaze was locked on the blonde now, if to simply show him that everything he said was true. Draco knew as well as anybody how to tell when Harry was lying—indeed, it wasn't a hard thing to spot. And right now…Harry had never wished more that he _could_ lie.

The blonde's short temper flared, "You can't be so sure! Anything could've set it off!"

"Maybe." Harry's shoulders sagged, wanting to be convinced by Draco's words.

"I just don't understand how—"

"I don't either."

Draco turned his face, his lids lowering to mask the frightened light in his eyes. Several moments filled with shaky breaths passed before the blonde finally spoke. He closed his eyes fully and took a single deep breath, then exhaled, forcing every last ounce of air from his lungs. "Well, what do you want to do about it then?" Draco's voice was all control.

"I—I don't know."

The Slytherin's eyes scanned over the room once before falling to Harry once more. "I think we should lay low for a while then. If…if something really is going on, then I think it will present itself to us whether we go looking for it or not. I'm just going to be praying that you're as bonkers as I always thought you were."

_We. Us_. Harry didn't know why, but those were the most comforting words he had ever heard.

The boys sat for a while, very quiet and very still. Harry's thoughts were nothing but a blur of fear and confusion. Was there a chance that the presence he had felt was not Voldemort's? Maybe scars were prone to hurt on occasion. The pain had…felt different from before—less intrusive. It had been more like a jab, induced simply to show Harry that it was there. Whenever Voldemort had touched his mind—Harry shivered despite himself—it had felt like a world of darkness had collapsed in on him, crushing him until he could barely think to breath. This…this had been different somehow. The same darkness…but a different power.

Draco leaned in closer to him, taking a deep ragged breath. "By Merlin." He breathed as he released the air from his lungs. "Being your friend is quite exhausting, Potter. I think I'm starting to get premature worry lines."

The comment pulled a half chuckle from Harry's sigh. "Try actually being me sometime."

The Slytherin's lips raised, "No thank you. I don't even want to think what your face will look like by the time you reach thirty."

Harry wrinkled his nose at the other boy, feeling unimaginably more eased by the fact that Draco could so effortlessly change his mood.

"So," Draco narrowed his gaze searchingly, his coy smirk dropping, "what did Granger want exactly?"

So much for the change in mood. Harry swallowed hard. "She—uh," he stuttered awkwardly, "she just wanted to tell me that the Weasleys are throwing me a birthday party."

The blonde nodded dispassionately, "That's right. Your birthday is coming up soon."

Harry merely hummed his agreement.

"And I assume I'm not invited."

The Gryffindor grimaced, "I'm really sorry…I mean it's not like I don't want you to come—but Ron and Hermione, and especially Ginny, wouldn't really like the—" Harry's sentence was cut off by the soft pressure of Draco's lips against his own. A small tingle like the tip of a feather teased the nerves in his spine.

Draco smiled, a gesture Harry felt rather than saw. He found he liked the feeling of Draco's smile. "You talk too much."

Harry's gulp was audible. "Do I?"

The blonde's hands moved to support themselves on either side of Harry's legs, moving him such that his face had to tilt up slightly to look at Harry. Draco's head moved to the side, and he batted Harry softly with his nose. "And you're trembling." His voice was a sweet whisper of nectar.

"Oh?" Harry realized, even then, the quavering in his voice. "I guess this whole thing," his lips brushed across Draco's as he spoke, "just has me a little unsettled." _Along with something else_. He chuckled awkwardly, feeling the warmth of his own breath bounce back against him.

Draco nodded, teasing Harry with the supple smoothness of his skin. "Yeah," he sighed, "me too." He pressed his lips once more against Harry's with a pressure so soft it could hardly be considered a kiss.

But Harry knew what it was. It was a question. Being a Slytherin, Draco never went into things unsure—he had to know beyond a doubt that this was okay. He had to know that Harry wanted it too. And truth be told, Harry knew it was impossible. He knew that the world would never accept them. From the outside looking in, all there was to see was the assurance of failure—they were a house built upon sand.

Draco knew it too, Harry was sure, which was why the gesture somehow meant so much more. In all his years, Harry had never known Draco to be a man of chance. Draco liked things safe, albeit unfairly handled if the need arise. And as a Slytherin, Draco's actions were always planned with meticulous perfection. He settled for nothing less. Except in this.

Harry's head dipped forward, capturing the blonde's lips in his own. And for that sole knowledge alone—to know he was desired with such complete and total abandon—Harry would do anything. So what if it would never work? It's not like Harry had ever taken the easy way out anyway.

Draco's lips curled against his own, and the Slytherin pressed his full weight against Harry's torso, placing his hands flat against the hardness of the other boy's chest. They relaxed into each other, for the first time able to explore and enjoy the feeling of intimacy. There was nothing forceful or rushed as there had been before. Draco's mouth moved gently against his own, occasionally curling his tongue to tickle at Harry's lips, while Harry's hands traveled lazily across Draco's back, enjoying the soft curve of his spine and the sharp angles of his shoulder blades.

But the state of leisure did not last long. With a hard push, Draco effectively pinned Harry to the ground, his tongue delving into Harry's mouth as the boy had given his yelp of surprise. The Gryffindor's blood began to race as the blonde's hand slithered back to fist his hair. With a painful pull, Harry's head was jerked back and all of a sudden there were teeth sinking into his neck, claiming both flesh and blood. Harry cried out, his nails digging through the fabric on Draco's back. It hurt, but the pain was his euphoria. And he wouldn't have had it any other way.

The blonde arched against him and eased off his bite with a kiss and a small sigh of contentment. "I have to go now." Draco said softly, running his lips down Harry's jaw line.

Harry's eyes fluttered, unwilling to be pulled from the darkness of closed eyes. "What?"

The lips moved down to his throat, nipping tenderly at the newly bruised skin. Harry inhaled sharply at the strange jolt the gentle gesture gave him. "If your birthday party is in three days, then I have some major shopping to do."

"But—"

"Just because I can't go to the party," Draco's canines grazed Harry's neck once more, "doesn't mean I can't send you a gift."

If Harry had been able to argue he would have. But Draco's mouth had his mind in a pleasured haze. The hot breath on his skin made every nerve in his body tingle in some sort of anticipation. He could feel every inch of his body so acutely that every movement was an explosion of sensation. The Slytherin made to pull away, but Harry's hands tightened against his back, effectively keeping the other boy in place.

Harry finally managed to force his eyes open, only to find Draco's face mere inches from his. The blonde's face practically glowed with his smile, and Harry couldn't help but return the expression. "Don't leave," Harry said softly, nuzzling his nose against Draco's cheek.

Draco hummed softly and returned the gesture, "You say that like you'll never see me again."

Harry didn't respond, he merely sighed and allowed his eyes to close once more, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the body above him. He had never felt such a comforting calm, and now that he had hold of it, he never wanted to let go.

Harry's breath shook as the blonde tenderly peppered kisses across his cheek. "I'll see you soon." Without even shifting his weight, Draco somehow managed to lift a hand and free himself from Harry's hold.

With once final feather light kiss, Harry felt the warmth of Draco's body leave his own. Now there was only the hardness of the ground beneath him, which vibrated with each step Draco took towards the door. He listened in silence as the door creaked open, and he winced as it clicked closed once more.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Ok soooooooo yes I DO in fact know that when Harry died it broke his connection with Voldemort and that his scar wasn't suppose to hurt after that. Or at least that's what I remember (it has been quite a while since I've read DH). BUUUUUUT...it's my little story and I'll torture my boys however I want :)

**Caution! Reviewing may lead to abnormally fluffy moments of cuteness!**


	22. It's My Party: Part Two

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG for language and innuendo

**Warnings**: future slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: Wow you guys! All the comments and reviews were so sweet and greatly appreciated :) And now my email seems to actually let me respond so now I'll be able to thank you all individually like I've been wanting to! *happy dance*

So this chapter is part two of Harry's little b-day extravaganza and I hope you all enjoy it. I seem to find someway to change it each and every time I read it through...so I apologize if there are more mistakes than normal! And I hope everyone likes Draco's gift ;)

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_And of course I forgive_

_I've seen how you live_

_Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes_

_You pick up the pieces_

_And the ghosts in the attic_

_They never quite leave_

_And of course I forgive_

_You've seen how I live_

_I've got darkness and fears to appease_

_My voices and analogies_

_Ambitions like ribbons_

_Worn bright on my sleeve_

-Vienna Teng

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

The next three days passed by surprisingly quickly, considering that Harry had spent most of his time either sleeping or taking a rag, his wand, and several cans of Lysol to the entirety of Grimmauld Place. If he was going to live there, it might as well be clean. Though in reality, it was mostly just a chore of habit.

He woke up early on the morning of his eighteenth birthday party, feeling the same as he did every other morning he awoke. He went downstairs, ate a bowl of oatmeal, showered, and dressed all before the full light of the sun had touched the sky. The only part of him that was even mildly excited was the part that was expecting news from Draco. Surely the blonde would at least send him an owl.

He hung around the house longer than absolutely necessary, lingering near the third story window, but no span of black wings broke the solid blue of the sky. At precisely 10AM his watch beeped his preset alarm, signaling that he was already late to the party. With a disappointed sigh, Harry detached himself from the window and clopped unceremoniously down the three flights of stairs.

The morning air was muggier than usual, and Harry immediately regretted his decision on a long sleeve collared shirt and slacks. Normally, he would've thought nothing of going to the Weasleys' celebration in a t-shirt and jeans, but his inner conscience (which sounded all too coincidentally like Draco) had nagged him into changing his mind. Draco's number one rule for parties was appearance—he was to be the best dressed and the center of attention no matter the occasion. Anything less, he had said, would be considered unacceptable.

Harry would have to remember to ask George for a change of clothing as soon as he arrived.

Less than ten minutes and an uncomfortable Apparation later, Harry found himself striding across the grounds of the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley had truly outdone herself this year. Whereas the grounds was normally just a large field of grass, now there were hoards of cherry trees, all clustered together in a miniature forest around the house. They were in full blossom now, little pink flowers blooming and emitting the most wonderful smell. Harry smiled as he noticed a petal fall, only to turn into a fluffy pink balloon just before it hit the ground and drift upward to disappear into the clouds. Even from this distance Harry could read the inscription on each balloon that rose: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!

Amidst the trees were scattered white tarps, each ordained with cream colored roses and black ribbons. There was already a large group gathered under the largest tarp, and with heavy feet, Harry made his way over to it.

Hagrid, being the largest in the group and therefore the most able to see over a crowd, was the first to notice him.

"'OI, IT'S 'ARRY!" the grounds-keeper boomed, a large smile stretching his face. "Happy birthday, 'Arry!"

The group all turned simultaneously, and Harry felt himself redden at the sudden attention. "Hey there, Hagrid."

Everyone seemed to rush to him at once, all smiles and hugs. There were so many voices he hardly knew who he was talking to. There was of course Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, George, Charlie, Bill, and Percy. McGonagall was there too, as well as a few other familiar teachers who all seemed intent on shaking his hand more than a few times. Seamus was there, and Dean as well: Susan Bones, the Patil twins, Cho Chang—even Angela and Oliver had managed to show up. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny however, were notably absent.

"Will everyone give the man some room?" George yelled, shooing off the inner circle, "It's not like you don't have all day!"

The group laughed, but they backed off nevertheless. Harry straightened his collar and attempted to steady his breathing, "Thanks, George."

"No problem, Harry." George replied, clapping Harry on the back. "Happy birthday, by the way. Come into the store sometime, I'll give you your pick. Whatever you want."

Harry smiled, "Thanks."

"Oh, and," George's face fell ever so slightly, "sorry about Ron and Ginny not being down here. I know Gin will come down soon, but Ron…" he trailed off.

Harry shifted awkwardly, trying not to grimace at the thought that his best friend had not even bothered to show up. "It's alright, George. Really. He—er—already told me he had something to do today."

"You mean he's actually doing something up there?" George gazed up at the house, looking doubtful.

"It's just," Harry fumbled for a lie, hoping to at least save George the anguish, "not a good day for him."

George narrowed his eyes, and shrugged helplessly. "He'll get over it soon."

Harry nodded.

"Oh, and by the way, Percy told me to tell you that—"

"I didn't say anything of the sort, Harry!" Percy called from the other side of the tent.

George turned, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "I hadn't even said anything yet!"

"Well, whatever you were going to say, I'm quite sure that I never said it!"

"So you never said that Harry was a straight up good fellow with the courage and honor only a true Gryffindor could have?" George turned back to Harry, looking mellow, "I'm sorry mate, I guess Percy thinks you're a shallow self-centered Slytherin."

"George!" Percy barked.

George gave Harry an ear-to-ear grin, and immediately bounded off to pounce on Percy, leaving Harry lingering over thoughts about Slytherins. It was almost pathetic, how easily his thoughts were directed towards Draco. He vaguely wondered what the blonde was doing right now. Draco had said something about finding Harry a gift, but that could not possibly take three days. Then again, this was Draco. Knowing him, Harry would end up owning half of England. Knowing him…Harry smiled at the thought…maybe Draco had been right; they knew each other all the better _because_ of their rivalry.

"Happy day of birth, Harry," came a wispy voice from his back.

Harry jumped and spun, "Luna! Merlin you startled me! And," he chuckled despite himself, "Neville, you came too!" The two stood in front of him, hand in hand; Luna looking her usual airy self, and Neville looking a little more than embarrassed.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Neville said quietly, offering a small smile.

Luna tossed her long blonde hair, causing her earrings to jingle like chimes in the wind. She reached in her pocket and brought out a small star shaped keychain. "Here," she said, handing him the keychain, "Neville and I made you this. It's made from the wood of the rare lightwood tree—my father and I have been growing one since my mother died. If you carry it with you it will help you find the things that you lost."

Harry's lips curled slightly as he fingered the smooth yellow wood, "Thanks, to both of you. I actually probably need something like this—you know how I tend to leave things around."

"We do know," Luna replied quickly, winking "Have you gotten your real gift yet?"

Harry cocked his head.

Luna seemed almost annoyed that he didn't understand. Her blue eyes were sharp as she looked at him, "The gift that touches your heart."

"Er—uh," Harry stammered, not knowing what to say, "no, I don't think so."

"Oh. Well you'll get it soon." Luna nodded.

Neville chuckled awkwardly, and nudged at Luna. "Right, well, I think I'm going to take Luna to get some punch. See you around, Harry."

"Harry," Luna leaned forward, refusing to be lead off, "Ginny's gone."

"What?"

"Is she in the house?"

Harry blinked, confused. "Um, well, I suppose so."

Luna's light eyes flickered between the house and Harry, and she nodded. "Don't let her go, Harry."

"Go where?"

Neville tugged at the Ravenclaw's hand, "Sorry, Harry, she been doing a lot of tarot card reading lately."

"Professor Trelawney gave them to me."

Neville smiled fondly at Luna's unveiled expression. "Come on, let's go get some punch."

With one last glance at Harry, Luna allowed herself to be pulled away.

Harry bid the two farewell, and tucked the keychain in his pocket for safekeeping. What was that all about? With a deep breath he turned, preparing himself for the onslaught of small talk. It was going to be a long day.

After only a few hours, Harry's voice was already getting scratchy, and his shoulders were beginning to ache from all of the bear hugs Hagrid kept surprising him with. He was more than thankful when Mrs. Weasley finally emerged with his humungous birthday cake magically floating in front of her. Mr. Weasley had to extend the doorframe just to get it through, much to George's amusement and everyone else's awe.

The redhead leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear, "She spent the last two days baking that thing. All by hand too. Nearly drove us all crazy with it."

"Wow," was the only thing Harry could think to say. He could not believe somebody went through such trouble, and all for a stupid birthday. A soft warmth swelled in his chest as Mrs. Weasley placed the cake on the center of a round table, absolutely beaming.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she called, and the buzz of the crowd instantly died, "I would like to thank you all for coming out today, and I know that Harry thanks you too." Harry reddened once more as all eyes turned on him. "I'm sure everyone here knows what a long journey it has been for all of us, and I'm sure you all know that without Harry, none of us would've ever made it through. Many of you, like myself, have known Harry since he first came to the wizarding world, and I know that all of you must be as proud as I am to have seen him grow into such a fine young wizard. We'd all have been lost without you, Harry. So, on behalf of everyone here and everyone who's not, I would like to wish you a very—"

"Happy birthday." Came a silken voice. Harry's gaze shifted to see Ginny Weasley round the table to appear beside her parents. There was a barely audible gasp from the crowd, and Harry felt his own throat tighten in shock. There Ginny stood, though if Harry had not known her so intimately, he would have never have recognized her. Her hair was dark now, almost as black as Harry's, and it looked as if she had recently taken a pair of sheers to it. Her once long silken locks were now dull and cropped unbecomingly around her too narrow face. Her skin too, was changed. It was pale and thin, and Harry was sharply reminded of Draco. He remembered noticing it in the library; how poor Draco looked, though Ginny's metamorphosis had taken a much more dramatic toll.

She wore a pale pink dress that Harry recognized as one of his old favorites on her. It now hung limply on her overly thin frame, bringing to notice how her bones were visible beneath her translucent skin. Dark circles like bruises shadowed her midnight eyes, and there, standing in the afternoon sun, she looked as hollow and dead as a ghost.

It was impossible, so much so that it made Harry sick to his stomach. How long had it been since he had seen her? One week? Two? Had things changed so much? She had trusted him—called out to him for help. How could he have let this happen? Why hadn't he protected her? The surge of guilt appeared so suddenly and forcefully that it made his very chest ache.

Mrs. Weasley's face fell immediately, and Harry did not miss the quick tears that glazed her eyes. "Oh, Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley half sobbed, taking her daughter by the wrist and leading her away from the crowd. The two exchanged hushed words, all of which seemed to worsen Mrs. Weasley's upset state.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat in attempt to draw attention back to the matter at hand. "Well, yes, happy birthday, Harry. Now, if all of you will grab a plate…" his next words were lost as the crowd scrambled forward, all attempting to feign nonchalance about Ginny's sudden appearance.

Harry did not follow them. He doubted very much that he could even if he had wanted to. His eyes moved through the crowd. They found Charlie first, who was attempting to help his father serve cake, while Bill handed out cutlery. Then he found George and Percy, who were busy helping construct the line. Their faces were smiling, and yet, their smiles seemed too pursed. Were they trying to ignore it too?

The last pair his eyes happened upon was Luna and Neville. Neville still had Luna's hand grasped in his own, only this time it was to hold her back. The small Ravenclaw was pulling against him with all her might, her keen eyes set on Ginny and Mrs. Weasley.

"Luna, please!" Harry heard Neville plead.

Luna did not respond, but with a final tug, managed to free herself. Neville started after her, but was cut off by the line and a very hungry Hagrid. Harry's gaze followed Luna as she marched towards the two women. Each glanced up as the blonde arrived. Mrs. Weasley looked horrified. Ginny looked amused.

Luna stopped, facing Ginny and taking her by the hands. Harry watched as Luna talked, and Ginny's amused expressed quickly faded into annoyance, and finally into anger. Ginny jerked her hands away, and slapped Luna hard across the cheek. The action sent Harry into motion. Before he could even think twice about what he was doing, he was sprinting across the grass, his arms open and catching Luna as she stumbled back from the blow.

Mrs. Weasley was full on crying now. "Ginny! Why would you—apologize right now!"

Ginny snorted, eyeing Harry. "Sod off."

Harry's brow furrowed and he turned his attention to Luna. "Luna, are you okay?"

Luna blinked twice, and pushed herself up from Harry's arms. "I'm fine," she said, smiling slightly. And then she turned, and made her way back to the tent, a little less bounce in her step than normal.

"What the hell was that about?" Harry seethed, turning back to Ginny, completely ignoring the fact that he should watch his tongue around her mother. At the moment, he couldn't care less.

"Did it look like something other than what it was?" Ginny said, and Mrs. Weasley gave a sharp sputtering wail. Ginny grimaced, "Mother, go clean yourself up. You're embarrassing Harry in front of everyone. And it _is_ his birthday."

Before Harry could say a word against it, Mrs. Weasley fled towards the Burrow and disappeared into her kitchen door. Harry stared after her, his guilt stabbing him once again.

"So are you having fun?" Ginny asked conversationally.

"Fun?" Harry gaped at her sudden change in mood. "What—what in the world just happened with Luna? Are you barking mad—I mean, why would you hit someone? Much less your best friend?"

Ginny raised a brow, "Am I supposed to take your advice on how to treat best friends, Harry? If you hadn't noticed, yours don't even seem to be here."

Harry couldn't help but wince at the truth in the words. "Listen, what happened between Ron, Hermione, and I is—"

"Is what?" Ginny cocked her head, chancing a step closer, "None of my business?"

Harry's face creased, but he didn't respond.

"But let's not dwell on these things. It's your birthday after all. Don't you want to know what I've gotten you?"

"Not really." Harry took a step back. His voice came in a whisper, "I want to know what's happened to you. I want to know why you're like this."

The other hummed, grinning widely, "Hm, well, I remember telling you all about it, but you didn't seem too keen to listen."

"If you're going to blame this on Draco—"

"Is that what you call him now? Draco? My how times have changed. It almost makes me miss those days when You Know Who was still around."

Harry scowled, "You can say his name. He's dead now."

Ginny sidled up against him, raising her arms to thread her fingers behind his neck. Something about the touch made the hackles on Harry's neck rise. "You think evil is so easily destroyed? Killing one man isn't killing his ideas, or killing his spirit. No matter what you do, that is something that can never die. It will come back."

"Not while I'm around."

"You sound so sure." Ginny laughed, her dark eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "And yet you allow danger to creep so close. Tell me, how long have you known Draco Malfoy?"

Harry's heart jumped at the question. "I don't know—about seven years."

"And you considered him your enemy?"

"Stop asking questions you already know the answer to."

Ginny laughed once more; a light and airy sound. "And what is he to you now?"

"He's my friend," Harry replied without skipping a beat.

Ginny nodded, biting her lip and averting her gaze, looking thoughtful. "_Just_ your friend?"

At this, Harry's nerves twittered. "Yes." He decided to stick with simple answers. Had Hermione said something to Ginny about the other night?

"And yet you disposed of us so easily."

"I didn't." Harry defended. "Draco's not the person we thought he was. Ron and Hermione will understand…in time. I'll make sure of it."

"Oh, how does that saying go—you can't always have the cake and eat it too?"

"We'll see."

"And what if it's all a guise? Have you never wondered whether this friendship is simple a farce—a means to a vengeful end?"

"Of course I've wondered that! You think I just welcomed him into my life with open arms?"

"I think you're too willing to see what you want to see, Harry," she replied softly. "Do you really think that people are innately good?"

Harry frowned, looking down at the small frail girl that held him and wondering what sort of darkness had touched her soul so deeply. "Yes, I do believe that. I have to."

Ginny unclasped her hands and took a tentative step back. "Then you really are naïve."

"I never thought that was a bad thing."

"Think about it, Harry. Seven years you were rivals. Seven years he hated you. He is his father's son. How could you conceive that he change so quickly?"

"I don't think he was ever really what we thought it in the first place. But you're right about one thing; I am too willing to see what I want. I wanted to see him as my enemy, so I did."

Ginny scoffed, crossing her arms heatedly, "You twist my words."

Harry shrugged and again chose not to answer. A moment of silence hung between them, and Harry's guilt pressed down on him like a weight. "Ginny," he kept his voice soft, " tell me what's happening to you."

Ginny's ringing laughter was his only response. The girl stared at him, her eyes boring into him with full force. In a calm swift movement she extended her arm out to the side, "_Accio_ Dragonfly!"

From somewhere around the house he heard a sharp whirling of air. Then, from around the corner of the Burrow, came a broomstick, darting towards them in a blur. It hit Ginny's hand with a sounding thud. She smiled and offered the broom to him. "My gift to you."

Harry, in his surprised state, eyed the broom in awe. It was flawless. Long and sleek, with design equal if not better than that of his Firebolt. Such a broom, much have cost a small fortune. "How—I can't accept this."

"Yes you can. I've been saving for forever, and I would be insulted if you didn't."

"I," Harry faltered, "I don't know what to say."

"Well, you'll have to go to the racing shop in Diagon Alley to get your real one."

"My real one?"

"Of course. This is just the trial they give you when you buy the broom. They actually custom make the brooms, so you have to go in and do a flying test for them."

"Really? "

Ginny giggled in a way that was deceptively giddy, "Oh, yes. You can go in any time you like."

"Wow," Harry repeated, entranced by the sight before him.

Harry knew, somewhere in the back of his mind that there were other matters to worry about, but his glee had him overwhelmed. Oh, to have his own broom again! The thought made him nearly dizzy with happiness. But no…Ginny…

"Oi! Harry!" Harry turned to see George not standing too far off, holding a large dome shaped cloth-covered package by the handle in one hand and a parcel in the other. "This just came for you. The letter says it's from Malfoy."

Harry felt Ginny stiffen at his side. She shoved the broom into his hands with a huff, "I'll see you later, Harry. Remember what I said before." And with that, she marched off, following her mother into the house.

George made his way towards Harry, looking unusually glum. Once he was within proper speaking distance, his expression took on a full on scowl. "Sorry about her," he set the bundle down at Harry's feet, "None of us know what's wrong. Ever since she came back from St. Mungo's she just been…anyway," he handed Harry the letter and made a feeble attempt to smile, "come over and have some cake soon, all right?"

Harry took the parchment with a nod. "I will."

George turned and left Harry alone, standing, broomstick in one hand, letter in the other. Carefully, he lay the broomstick down on the grass, and plopped down next to it. He eyed over the letter, barely noticing the smile that pulled insistently at his lips.

_Dear Harry,_

_ As you can imagine, I have an extraordinary talent for buying things, specializing in, of cours,e gifts (whether they are for myself or not is beside the point). But I have come to the recent discovery that I'm only good at this because I have a keen knowledge of what people want. But you, Harry (being the non-materialistic prat that you are), are seemingly in want of nothing. Oh sure, there are things that you need—a comb and some hair potions for instance—but no material thing that you've ever expressed a true want for. I have a heap of things lying around that I've bought you, but none of them were adequate. You had me stumped, which I will admit, is no easy task. I almost gave up and bought you a broom, but then I thought better of it. Most flyers, including myself, are very particular with their brand of broom and like to pick it out themselves. So you'll understand why I didn't want to get you something that you would just end up taking back._

_ And then it struck me—oh and I can't believe I didn't think of it before! I'm brilliant you know, and consider yourself lucky, because beauty and brains aren't normally a pair. I had almost forgotten you see, it seems so long ago. During my fourth year at Hogwarts, my father gave me permission to keep my Eagle Owl, Markwood, at Hogwarts. I was, needless to say, elated. (A good bird is often a better—if not more stimulating—companion than most people in my opinion). I visited him in the owlry frequently early in the year, to see how he was getting along with the other birds. _

_ Much to my approval, Markwood detested your owl. I of course, being the cute incorrigible child that I was, encouraged their hostile behavior towards one another. But, at one point in the year, sometime right at the beginning of the Tri Wizard Tournament, your owl became even more aggressive. She was angry because of something I suppose._

Harry grimaced, remembering his fight with Hedwig. It had torn him apart. She had been such a wonderful bird, and he knew without a doubt he would never be able to find her equal.

_Well one day I walk into the owlry, and what do I find? Your owl forcing herself on my poor Markwood! (The little minx!) I fled immediately, not knowing what to do. I didn't go back for weeks after that, and every time Markwood would deliver my mail I could tell that something was up. Pretty soon he stopped delivering my mail all together (he got some other poor owl to do it—very Slytherin of him, don't you think?)._

_ I went to the owlry soon after to check on him, and found him sitting on a nest. Odd, I thought. He resisted but I finally shooed him off of it. And there, lying in the center of the nest, were two eggs._

Harry's hands began shaking so badly that he dropped the letter. He scrambled to pick it up again, his eyes scourging the page. No. He eyed the package. It couldn't be.

_I was so mad, I destroyed the first egg immediately, and would've destroyed the second had not the owls made such a fuss about the first. I managed to escape with it tucked in my robes. I was about to smash it when a thought came upon me. There was no doubt in my mind that this egg was the offspring of your owl. I finally had something to hold over you—something I had never had before._

_ So I kept the egg, and allowed it to hatch in the safety of my room. It was sheer will and luck that I kept the thing alive, but I don't remember ever being so thrilled in my life. _

_ I named her Atheria. I taught her to hunt, and carry a parcel, along with everything else. I knew it was a bad idea at the time. I knew I would get attached. So when the time came down to it, I couldn't use her against you. I figured that her life wasn't worth the waste. (Funny how things come full circle isn't it?)_

Harry's breath was coming in long hard pants. Hedwig…had a daughter?

_You told me, not too long ago, that your owl was killed, and I want you to know that, for what it's worth, I'm very sorry for your loss. But I figured, that if you can't have Hedwig, then her daughter is the next best thing, right?_

"No," Harry breathed in disbelief. He sprung towards the package, his free hand ripping off the cloth. There was the sound of rattling metal, accompanied by the indignant hoot of a ruffled bird. There she sat, in a cage perched on a wooden branch—Atheria. Silent tears slipped down Harry's cheeks before he had even noticed them form. She was magnificent. She was larger than Hedwig had been, with sharp white wings that faded to a golden brown in the tips. But she had the same snowy round face, and the same piercing golden eyes.

The two locked gazes. Atheria, hooted softly and clacked her beak, while Harry merely stared, wide eyed and slack jawed.

Harry was so entranced that he did not even notice the approaching figure at his front. Hagrid's deep rough voice pulled him from his stare. "That's a mighty fine bird you got there, 'Arry! Mixed breed is it? Who's it from?"

"It's from…it's from…" Harry's tongue failed him. He unlocked the cage and opened its door. Atheria hopped from her perch, to the ground, and onto Harry's leg, all the while staring up at him with those bright knowing eyes. She hooted once more, and Harry smiled, fondly stroking her head as if they had been friends for years. She offered her leg out to him, and for the first time, Harry noticed a small note tied to it.

With shaky hands he untied it and smoothed it out between his fingers. It was another note from Draco.

_I'll be at your place at sundown. Meet me there._

Harry's head jerked to the west. Already the sun was beginning to dip into the trees. He only had an hour, perhaps a little less. His heart suddenly began to pound in his chest. He held out his arm to Atheria, which she instantly hopped up onto. Her talons broke flesh but he hardly cared. "Hagrid," Harry said breathlessly, holding the owl out to him, "take care of her will you? I'll be right back."

Hagrid took the bird, obviously flustered. "'Arry—where 'ya goin? Is something wrong?"

Harry bent and retrieved the broom from the lawn. He vaguely wondered whether trial brooms were made to fly, but quickly decided that it didn't matter. He mounted the broom and kicked off, sending Hagrid a windswept smile. "Nothing's wrong. Tell Mrs. Weasley and everyone else that I'll be back for some of that cake."

"'Arry?"

The Gryffindor pressed his body forward and felt the broom give a sudden lurch before shooting off into the sky. The last thing he heard before the sound of roaring wind took his ears was Hagrid's voice yelling after him.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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Soooooo that was cute right? Cliche, yes...but cute! Maybe? Lol well ladies and gents we are getting down to the final sprint here...probably only 10 or so more chapters to go, which means we are gonna start gettin into the nitty gritty soon! That should be fun :D

**Did you know that reviewing makes Harry and Draco want to do naughty things? **(Deary me...I'm starting to sound desperate aren't I lol)


	23. Glass

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and innuendo

**Warnings**: future slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: Almost to 200 reviews, yay! Lol that's sort of an accomplishment right? :) Love you guys! Anyway, this chapter is a little ball of angst, but still fun in it's own way. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_This is wrong. I should be gone._

_Yet here I lay 'cause I can't stay away. _

_Roses bloom in your dirty room, I come to play_

_'Cause I can't stay away, no I can't stay away._

_I'm conflicted. I inhale now I'm addicted_

_To this place, to you babe,_

_I can't stay away—can't stay away._

_We get up, we go down, then we go one more round._

_It's wrong they say, and I can't stay, no, I can't stay away_.

-The Veronicas

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Harry's feet hit the pavement before he even realized he was making to land. The broom, though Ginny had said it was nothing more than a trial, had flown like a dream. He had made it back to Grimmauld Place in a fraction of the time it should've taken him. Then again, it may have also had something to do with the fact that Harry had pushed the broom to top speed for the larger part of the flight.

His cheeks were flushed and wet from clouds, and his hair was even more disorderly than usual. His nice shirt was now disastrously wrinkled and sticking to the sweat on his chest. At the moment, he assumed he had the appearance of someone half wild, but he hardly cared.

The sun was low in the west now, and already the sky above had faded into a deep muted blue, flared with hints of red and orange. Draco Malfoy stood not twenty feet away, leaning idly against a brick post just outside his doorway. The blonde hadn't noticed him yet, for he was preoccupied with studying a half-torn piece of parchment. His pale brows were furrowed together in thought, and his grey eyes were alight with concentration. Harry found himself frozen in awe, and the emotion that surged through his veins at that moment was so potent it felt as if his skin was the only thing holding him all in one place.

Draco blinked suddenly and looked up, his eyes immediately finding Harry's. The blonde smiled, and all at once Harry was sprinting forward. He was standing in front of the other boy not a moment later.

Draco smirked, his eyes dancing, "Happy birthday, Ha—"

Harry's threw his broom to the ground and took Draco's face in his hands, crushing their lips together. He felt Draco's breath hitch as Harry pressed him back into the brick. Their mouths moved heatedly, and Harry found his hands traveling up and down the sharp planes of the Slytherin's body. The cotton shirt he wore was thin, and Harry could plainly feel each muscle as it twitched beneath his touch. The Gryffindor pressed against Draco's body, wanting every part of himself to be melded into that heat.

In a sudden wave of passion, Harry moved to pepper kisses along his jaw, and licked at the thin film of sweat that lined his pale neck. Draco hissed, took Harry by the shoulders and pushed, effectively freeing himself.

"By Merlin, Potter," Draco said, flushed and winded, "you give quite a greeting. I guess that means you got my present?" He busied himself with trying to pocket his parchment with one hand while holding Harry back with the other.

Harry pressed against the hand that held him back, unable to do anything but whisper the other boy's name.

Draco smirked. "I'll take that as a yes then. I'm glad you like her. There's actually some other stuff inside if you want to—"

Draco was cut of once more as Harry descended on him, though this time, the blonde laced his fingers behind Harry's neck and pulled him closer. Harry smiled against him, running his hands over the ridges of Draco's too thin torso, and finally grabbing hold of the slender hips. His grip tightened as he moved to nip at the other boy's ear, and he was repaid with a gasp very different from the kind he wanted to hear.

The comfortable blanket of heat fell as Harry flinched back, "Draco?"

The blonde's face gave a strange sharp contortion before he lowered his hands to Harry's chest. "It's nothing. Your hands just hit a bruise, that's all," he said briskly, pushing Harry back farther, "Let's go inside."

Harry muttered the password absentmindedly and the door swung open. He followed Draco into the cool entryway, his mind ablaze. He practically slammed the door behind him.

"It was your father again wasn't it," Harry growled. It seemed all his excitement was easily enough dissipating into anger.

Draco kept his eyes averted, "Your other things are hidden in various places. I thought it might make it more entertaining…for me I mean."

"Is that a yes then?"

"Potter," Draco's head slumped forward, "let's not start this. Not today."

Harry started forward, stopping just behind the other boy. It reminded him of that night in the Burrow, when Draco seemed nothing more than a fragile breakable thing. "Draco, if he's hurting you, I'm not just going to sit here and—"

"And what, Potter?" Draco turned slowly towards him, his voice airy and distant. "You don't know anything about it."

"Then tell me," Harry raised his hand to stroke the softness of Draco's cheek. "Tell me why he does this to you. Tell me why you take it. Do you even realize how thin you've gotten?"

"Taking a stab at my looks now are we?" The blonde's lips curled briefly before falling into an even deeper frown. He shied away from Harry's caressing hand. "I know it may not seem like it, but he really is just trying to protect me."

"By beating you?"

The blonde scoffed, "Stop making me sound so tortured, Potter."

"I'm just asking you to tell me the truth, Draco." Something in the way Harry said his name made the other boy start.

"My father and I…" Draco's eyes clouded as he looked away, "we've both done things we regret. And…a long time ago, my father made a decision that he can't take back. I guess it goes along with that passage—oh how does it go—that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son."

"I don't understand. And no offense, but God isn't exactly the almighty being I would parallel your dad with."

"Yeah," Draco chuckled darkly, "I suppose it doesn't really fit at all, but I thought it sounded more poetic that way. I'm hardly the self-sacrificing type anyway. I guess the more appropriate analogy would be of Lucifer and his son Death. But I don't suppose you've read Paradise Lost." Draco's look further distanced itself, until Harry hardly knew if there was actually a soul behind that mask. When the Slytherin finally spoke, his voice had become a mere glazed imitation of itself, "Which way shall I fly, infinite wrath, and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell; and, in the lowest deep, a lower deep, still threatening to devour me, opens wide, to which the hell I suffer seems a heaven."

"Draco, please," Harry took the other boy by the shoulders and shook him slightly, "you're scaring me."

The blonde seemed to shake himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I ramble off like that sometimes."

Harry cast him a doubtful look.

"Look, Potter…Harry," Draco huffed, "all I'm saying is that he does it because it's for my own good. Didn't we come in here to open your other gifts by the way?"

"If you're trying to worm your way out of telling me something it won't work."

"Slytherin's do not worm, Potter."

"Then what are you doing right now?"

"Reminding you that you have a party to get back to. I very much doubt they would have stopped the birthday celebration for the Boy-Who-Lived at 6PM."

Harry frowned. "That hardly matters."

"But they _are_ expecting you back?"

The Gryffindor didn't respond.

Draco gave a triumphant sneer, "Well there you go then. Now, for the presents…"

The blonde started to turn, but Harry caught him, "Do _you_ believe you deserve it? Because if that's what you think, Draco, no one deserves—"

"I do believe that." Draco looked at him straight on for the first time since they had entered the house, and Harry saw not one ounce of doubt in his look. "And if you knew about the things I've done, you would believe it too."

"I would never!"

"You would," the blonde asserted defiantly.

Harry's grip tightened, "If you think that, then you obviously don't know me very well."

"No. You obviously don't know yourself."

"What makes you so sure?"

Draco wriggled out of Harry's grasp and went to lean against the wall. He crossed his arms and stared blankly up at the ceiling, his mouth set in a hard thin line. "Because…I know people. Everyone, even you Harry, has a breaking point. Though I will admit, I am surprised you're still here, after all that you've seen and heard."

"You're still here too you know." Harry said softly. Draco didn't react beyond a slight twitch in his jaw.

"All the worse."

"Draco—"

"Come here, Harry, will you?"

Harry did, moving carefully as he always found himself doing around Draco these days.

The blonde looked at him with dark piercing grey eyes, and took Harry by the hips and pulled him close. Harry stared straight back at him, refusing to think, refusing to breath. Draco's hands traveled up his torso, his fingers tracing small circles that had Harry's skin prickling beneath his shirt. But Draco's gaze was unfaltering, and penetrated him like a nail through wood.

Gracefully, like the movement of a feather on air, Draco brought his hand up to rest in the hollow of Harry's neck. Harry resisted the shiver that pricked at his spine as the other boy held him. Then Draco turned his head as if he meant to kiss him, and Harry's heart skipped a beat in anticipation.

"Can I ask you a question, Harry?" Draco breathed against him.

Harry's hands tensed awkwardly at his sides. "Yeah. What?"

"If you loved someone…would you do anything to save them? Even if it meant hurting you? Even it meant hurting them too?"

"Draco, you can't justify your father by saying—"

"I'm not talking about him." Draco pressed his forehead to Harry's, "I'm talking about you….and Ginny, and Ron, and Hermione, and Hagrid—any of them, all of them—would you do something—something terrible—just to save their lives? If being with you meant that they were in danger, would you make them leave? Would you make them hate you? Could you?"

Harry tried to focus on Draco's expression, but the blonde's face was much too close and his eyes blurred in strain. His arms itched to move, to take Draco in his arms, but for some reason he couldn't move. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I want to know."

"Then yes, I think I would. They're the most important things in the world to me. And I would do the same for you too."

Draco let out a ragged sigh that trembled heat against Harry's cheek. "Then you are more like my father than you think."

"If you think he's hurting you to save you from something—Draco that doesn't—"

"I'm not like that, you know—like you or like him I mean. I would never do something like that. I'm too selfish…especially with you. Even if being with me meant something horrible would happen, I don't think I would be able to make myself save you. Even if it meant that you hated me in the end…even if it meant you would die because of it."

"Draco, that's not—you would never do something like that—why are you saying these things? Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"My father's dying, Harry." Draco's words were quick and hot.

Harry blinked several times, unsure of the reality that had laid itself before him. "Dying? Your father is…dying?"

Draco's grip on Harry's hips tightened. "Did I stutter?"

"N-no but, Draco! Merlin! Dying? How? Has your mother called a doctor or—?" Harry broke off, unsure of what to say. If he had heard the news from anybody else, a small part of him knew that it would not have been wholly unwelcome. But hearing it from Draco was a completely different matter. No matter what kind of a man Lucius was, he was still Draco's father and though the thought was incomprehensible to Harry, there was no man the blonde held in higher esteem. Even if he hadn't felt that way…to lose a father…Harry would never wish that sort of pain on anyone.

"We have. No one can help. It's only a matter of time now really."

"But," Harry floundered, "How long does he have? _What_ does he have? Surely St. Mungo's could—"

"They can't." Draco leaned back to look at him. His face had gone hard, "One does not simply walk into a hospital and ask to have a curse removed."

"A curse? You mean like what I had?"

"Compared to this, I rather think yours was just a Hufflepuff's idea of a prank."

"Oh…what are you going to do?"

Draco shrugged tightly, "There's really nothing I can do, is there."

Harry's throat tightened visibly. The blonde seemed so contained; so controlled about the whole matter. It almost hurt Harry, to think that the other boy was still this way, especially around him. He wondered if Draco knew to what extent Harry would go just to take a bit of weight off those aristocratic straight shoulders. He wondered if the blonde knew that it was okay to be afraid sometimes. He doubted it.

"Draco…"

The Slytherin sighed, "I don't want to talk about it anymore. I wasn't going to tell you at all, but seeing as you're the stubborn insistent Gryffindor prat you are," Draco smirked, "well…you just had to make me go and ruin your birthday."

"No." Harry's arms suddenly found the resilience to move, and they wound themselves around Draco's waist. "No. You didn't ruin it at all. But…are you okay? I mean…"

Draco gave a haughty snort of laughter, "Please, Harry, I'm not made of glass. I won't break."

Harry only nodded, desperately wishing he could believe those words.

Then Draco's chin tilted and suddenly there was a soft warm pressure against Harry's lips. And then it was gone, leaving Harry feeling fuzzy and lightheaded.

"You should probably be getting back now." The blonde said.

Harry's mouth quirked into a frown. "But…will you stay here? Will you stay with me tonight?"

Draco pushed their bodies apart, but Harry's hold didn't let him move far. The blonde looked straight at him with sleight grey eyes that with all their practice couldn't completely conceal the myriad of emotions that flickered through him.

"With you? You say that like—"

"I don't want you in another room…in another bed."

Something in Draco's expression changed then. He suddenly looked frightened…mortified. "Harry," he gave a nervous laugh, "I don't think you know what you're asking. I can't just—"

"I do know what I'm asking," Harry rebutted, his voice hard. "I've never wanted anything in my life like I want you. Draco, I think I might be in lo—"

"Don't say it!" Draco's eyes had gone wide and bright, "Don't say it…you're not…so don't say it." More forcefully this time, the blonde pulled himself out of Harry's grasp and with an odd sigh he straightened his shirt. Harry merely stared at him, frowning and feeling horribly confused.

Draco cleared his throat to cover up the silence, "You should be getting back."

"I don't want to leave." Harry replied meekly.

Draco gave another long sigh and glanced sideways towards the door. "I have to take care of something, but I'll…I'll be here when you get back."

Something fluttered fiercely in Harry's chest. "You will?"

The blonde didn't look at him, "I will."

With a near hysterical burst of laughter Harry grabbed the other boy in a tight hug and kissed him hard on the cheek.

Draco snorted and batted him off, though Harry could see the faint dusting of red that colored his face. "All right, all right, get off me you great buffoon! Go enjoy the rest of your party for Merlin's sake. I'll see you tonight."

"And Draco…about your father…you're not—"

"I'm fine, Harry. Now get out of here."

"I'll see you tonight then." Harry said, releasing him and bounding out the front door with a new lightness in his step.

* * *

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Angst angst angst...but hey, maybe they just need to give each other some good lovin!

**See that M rating? It awaits you in the next chapter :) Review if your response to that statement was, "FINALLY!"**


	24. The Slytherin Way

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is R for language and sexual content

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: Thank you guys sooooo much for all of your support! And here it is...the moment you've all been waiting for :) with, of course, a pinch of angst thrown in just for fun!

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_I open my lungs_

_To breath in forgiveness and love_

_Haunting me now, reminders of how I used to be_

_I know down the road_

_My troubles are sure to follow_

_Looking out the window_

_Hell if I know where I will go_

_So I'll just keep on driving_

-Daughtry

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

It was another four hours before Harry was finally able to excuse himself from the party, mostly due to a drunken Hagrid who had seemed keen on keeping Harry pinned to his side for the entirety of the evening. Luckily enough for him, McGonagall was a perceptive drunk. A small flick of her wand had sent Hagrid into a light doze. Harry had taken flight not a minute later.

His feet pounded into the pavement in front of Grimmauld Place so hard his legs almost gave. He jogged to his front door, muttered the password and pushed through the newly opened doorway. For some reason or another his breathing felt shallow and his heartbeat quickened. The narrow entry hall was dark and cold with absence. Harry peered around the corner into the living room but found it empty as well. His mouth twitched into a frown as he propped his broomstick against the wall.

"Draco!" he called, only to feel the emptiness around him press in. Draco had said he'd be here. Maybe he'd thought Harry would've taken longer?

Harry's frown deepened, "Draco?" The wooden stairs creaked beneath his sneakers as he made his way up to the second floor.

"Dra—." Then he heard something—a soft hissing coming from the third floor. It sounded like—"the shower?"

Harry took the rest of the stairs two at a time, and as he traveled up he could hear something else behind the hissing—a voice; soft and humming. Harry crossed the hall that led to his bathroom and immediately noticed light peeking through the crack at the bottom of the door. He walked up to it, reaching his hand out for the doorknob, but he paused.

Something warm rose in him then. He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to the door. He could hear it better now: Draco was singing. There were no words, just the soft lulling notes of a lullaby. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

Harry knocked twice. The singing stopped.

"Harry?" came Draco's voice from behind the door. Strangely enough, the blonde sounded unsure.

Harry opened the door slowly, not quite confident that he was allowed in. "Yeah, it's me," he said meekly.

Draco's response was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, "I was wondering when you'd show up."

Seeing as Draco didn't comment on Harry entering the room he decided to venture in a bit further. He sidestepped into the room and shut the door softly behind him. Harry's eyes immediately found Draco and were locked. The shower was large and glass—though not nearly as nice as Draco's—and steam fogged the blonde's silhouette as it billowed over the top in hot waves. But Harry could still see him well enough. The other boy's back was towards him, and his skin looked as pure and white as alabaster (which meant he must've healed himself again). The sharp lines of his shoulders dipped down into a perfectly tapered waste and for a moment Harry wondered what it would be like to run his hand town that bare back: to memorize the dips and curves and the way the muscles felt under Draco's skin as he moved.

"Are you going to come in?"

Draco's voice broke the heat of Harry's mind. "Wha—what?"

"Stuttering isn't as cute as you think, Potter. You heard what I said."

Harry swallowed thickly, "I didn't…actually."

"I asked if you were going to join me. Or are you just going to stand there and stare like a pervy git?"

Harry choked and a red heat rose into his cheeks. Somehow he couldn't manage to articulate an answer.

"Well?" Draco asked again, ever impatient.

"I…well I—uh—"

"Just get your clothes off and get in here."

Without further hesitation Harry began to strip, all the while trying to ignore the tremor in his hands and shakiness of his knees. He had never felt so naked as he did now, and with an embarrassed flush he muttered a spell to dim the lights.

He heard Draco's chuckle echo and play off the tile. "Trying to set the mood are you?"

Harry decided not to respond. He knew if he did something stupid would come out, or the words would get jumbled—he wasn't exactly the most fluid speaker under pressure, especially in situations like this. Not that he had ever been in a situation like this before. In fact, he didn't even really know what was going on, but that sure as hell wasn't going to stop him.

Still not quite sure of himself, Harry pulled the glass shower door open and stepped in. Barely thinking now, he pulled it back shut behind him. Everything after that was a blur—a beautiful fantastic blur. Draco's hands were suddenly on him and within an instant they were kissing, without even having to look. Because he knew Draco: he knew the way his cheekbones hardened into his jaw line, and the way his lower back curved and sloped, and the way his hands could hold him in just the way that made Harry feel like he never wanted to be let go. And with Draco, there was never anything else; never another image he had to live up to—never somebody he had to be. Harry was just…Harry. There was a strange wild abandon in the singularity of that thought that made his pulse fly.

"Harry," the blonde whispered in his ear, turning him and pressing him hard against the wall. The tile was cold and rough against Harry's skin, but he hadn't the care to take notice. "Harry," there was a weak sort of tremor in his voice, "…I have to tell you something."

"It's okay, Draco, you don't have to say anything," Harry said slowly, his mind as fogged as the glass, "I want it too."

Draco pulled back to look at him, "What? Harry…no I—"

Harry kissed him fiercely and everything around him seemed to become faded and mute. When he finally pulled back he saw only Draco eyes, staring at him with some indefinable fire. "Draco…I want it to be you."

Draco made a soft gagging noise, "What?"

"I want it to be you."

There was a short pause, "We are talking about sex here right?"

Harry blanched at his own boldness but nodded.

"Harry…I won't…you know I can't." The blonde shook his head, "I'm not going to be the one to deflower the savior of the wizarding world. Now listen, please, there's something—"

Harry kissed him again, slowly this time, allowing himself to feel every aspect of the body so firmly pressed against his own. Something was screaming inside his chest and his heart was beating so fast it hurt. But here with Draco, everything felt safe and right. He couldn't imagine it being any other way. And then Draco's arms were around him and everything inside him exploded.

The blonde pulled back slightly, his breath labored and his eyes dilated, "If we're going to do this, we're going to do this my way—the Slytherin way—got it?"

Harry nodded, but only because he needed Draco on him again, and he didn't care how he got him there. Draco kissed him hard, while his hands tore down Harry's body leaving thick red welts in their wake. Then Draco spun Harry once more, so his chest was pressed against the cold stone. The Slytherin sunk his teeth into the nape of Harry's neck and Harry let out a hiss of ecstatic pain. After that his mind lost track. The hot water streamed down, making their bodies slick, and Draco was pressed hard against his back; biting, kissing, scratching, and everything was alive like black fire. Harry pressed his eyes shut, trying to grasp it, but he couldn't. Everything was moving all too quickly and he couldn't help but be swept along with it.

"Harry," Draco whispered in his ear, his voice seeming half broken.

The blonde's hand slid wetly down his back and lower still. Harry gasped, his back arching as he felt Draco's finger press into him. He would've probably jerked away if he could, but Draco's other arm held him tight around the waste, his nails digging into the skin of Harry's hip. A breathless spell spilled over the Slytherin's lips and suddenly Draco's fingers felt hot and slick. Gripping Harry tighter, the blonde dared to stretch him again. Pain gathered at the base of Harry's spine and shot up, but he bit his lip against the cry that had gathered in his throat. He tasted blood not a moment later. But then there were lips on his ear, whispering soft words and sending pleasant chills through Harry's blood. Draco's arm still held him tight, as if to let Harry know that he wasn't going anywhere. But Harry wouldn't have even if he could. Because even though it hurt, he loved the feeling of Draco's mouth on his ear, and the hard warmth of his chest pressing against Harry's back, and the way he could feel that the blonde was trembling just as much as he was.

Suddenly, Draco's fingers were gone. Then, a hot shooting pain, like he was being ripped in half. Harry choked back a scream and shut his eyes tighter against the building tears.

"Harry," Draco whispered again.

Harry's body was pulsing with agony and heat. But then Draco's arm snaked down lower, his hand dipping down between Harry's legs, and he forgot about everything again. The blonde held him close, his face buried in Harry's hair, as they moved together. Harry's hands fisted against the tile and somewhere along the way the pain began to ebb. He hadn't known how to imagine this moment would be, but it was nothing like this. He could never have fathomed this sort of completeness. Then Draco thrust up hard, and Harry saw stars that made his blood sing and his body plead for more. A keening sound escaped him then—coming from somewhere deep that Draco was reaching into.

"Draco," he said, because there was nothing else he could say.

Draco was all around him, in him, and deeper. And it was all going too fast again, just like it had before. Hard and fast and ruthless, Draco took him, and Harry was falling now and he couldn't stop it. But this time he didn't want to. His body was free and alive and wild, and there was such a surge of every feeling he had ever known, coming together all at once such that he felt he couldn't possibly contain it all.

Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder, and Draco's voice vibrated against his skin as his hand and body moved together. Harry screamed and threw his head back, reaching up to tangle his fingers in that silky blonde hair.

Harry had no control of anything anymore. "Draco," he yelled, not knowing what he said, "Draco—ngh. Draco!"

And Draco answered him with a voice that sounded desperate and shattered, and a hard jolt shot through Harry. It started in his neck and shot down his spine like lightning and coiled into something so sharp that he could feel it vibrate throughout his entire body. And then it burst. Everything shook violently and he felt his legs go weak. Harry blinked as the shock left him and a heavy slowness began to creep into his body. He could now hear Draco breathing heavily at his back.

Harry felt Draco's lips curl into a smile against his shoulder before the blonde fell into a breathy fit of laughter. "Ah, Potter…is there anything you're bad at?"

"Potions," Harry replied weakly, feeling his own mouth lift into a smile.

Draco stepped back, and Harry more than felt the loss. The Gryffindor turned, feeling strangely anxious. But the blonde looked at him with eyes that shone and Harry felt his heart swell. Pulling Draco forward, Harry kissed him, and it was wet and slow and perfect.

"Thank you," Harry whispered against his lips.

Draco chuckled, "For what?"

"For that."

"The sex?"

"Yeah." Harry felt his cheeks flush.

Draco hummed thoughtfully. "Why did you wait so long? You must've had plenty of opportunities."

"You mean like, with Ginny?"

"I'm sure there were more than just her."

"Well," Harry was glad he was too close for Draco to actually see him, "it never felt right before. I wanted it to be…with someone I love."

Draco stiffened ever so slightly and suddenly the water around them seemed very loud. Harry pulled back to look at him. The blonde's eyes didn't shine anymore, at least, not like they did before. There was fear in them now.

Harry bit his lip tentatively, "Draco…you had to know that I do."

"Can't say that I did."

"Well…I do. I love—"

"I've never had anyone say that to me before. You shouldn't be saying it to me now."

"Why not?" Harry laughed nervously.

Draco leaned his forehead against Harry's shoulder and wrapped his arms around him, holding Harry tight. "Harry…there are things you don't know…things I need to tell you. But I don't know how."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Just tell me you don't love me."

Harry gripped at the blonde's shoulders, scared and confused. "I can't do that."

"Please," Draco whispered.

Harry's heart felt like it was about to crack, because Draco never said things like 'please'. Something was wrong, and a hard stone seemed to fall in Harry's stomach. "You…don't love me back, do you." Harry was glad for the water now, and that his face was already wet.

Draco jerked up so suddenly that Harry started. The blonde slammed him back against the tile, looking half wild, "No! Don't say that—how could you ever think that?"

"Then what?" Harry whispered, more scared and confused than ever.

"I—I do love you," Draco's brows knitted together, as if what he said confused him somehow, "but you _can't_ love me…not after all I've done. I won't allow it."

"You…won't allow it?"

The blonde released his hold on Harry's shoulders and turned off the water. The silence was harsh and immediate. Harry's breathing sounded rough and heavy in the dim steamed air, and he longed to say words that were trapped in his chest. But there were too many of them, and they were all whirling about feverishly.

Draco brought himself up to his full height, which in actuality wasn't any taller than Harry, but he made it a point to make himself look so. "Precisely." He turned on his heel and walked out of the shower, cold and stiff as the day Harry had met him.

Harry followed, "I don't understand."

The Slytherin grabbed his trousers from the countertop and pulled them on, "You don't have to understand."

"Draco," Harry stepped in front of the blonde, staring at him hard, "stop it. Why are you being like this?"

Draco didn't look at him, "Like what?"

"Like you're scared to even look at me!"

Draco did look at him then, and there was a darkness there Harry had never seen before. The Gryffindor stepped back instinctively.

"I…" Draco took his shirt and began twisting it in his hands, "I've never told anyone I love them before…ever. You know why. And Merlin knows I've fought this—this thing between us. I've told you before that it could never work, and in the shower I thought…I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

"That you can't love me."

"How in the world—"

"It will end, Harry," Draco interrupted abruptly, "Maybe not today or next week or next month, but it will, and I'll not have you waste something so unspoiled on me."

"Just who do you think you are?"

Draco blinked.

"Telling me I can't love you—you have no right! It's _my_ life, Draco!"

"And I'm not going to let you ruin it."

"I'm nearly eighteen years old! You can't tell me what to do!"

"I realize that. And you don't have to be so loud about it!"

Clenching his jaw, Harry grabbed his clothes from the floor and stormed out of the bathroom. He heard Draco close on his heels, and he was such an embarrassed fury he hardly knew where his feet were taking him. This couldn't be healthy—flying through emotions like this.

Somehow or another he found himself in his bedroom. He threw his clothes to the floor and went to his dresser, and began rummaging through the drawers with purpose. He threw on the first pair of boxers he found and slammed the drawer shut, relishing in the crash that broke the night air that hung about him with such ironical tranquility. It was wrong somehow. It should be storming.

"Harry," Draco was still standing in the doorway, "I didn't mean to upset you."

This time it was Harry who refused to turn around, "Then what did you mean to do?"

"Protect you."

A soft shiver took hold of Harry's spine and his anger wavered.

"When I told you that I loved you, I meant it. Do you think I want to see you hurt—like I've hurt you before?"

"That makes no sense," Harry's fingers curled and tightened into fists and then relaxed again. "Do you think you're going to hurt me again?"

"I know I'm going to."

Harry spun around wildly, "Why?"

Draco raised his chin, trying to keep face, "Because that's what I do, Harry. And I'm not going to try to live a fairytale that doesn't exist."

"So what are we then! What am I to you, and what are you supposed to be to me! I thought we had the same idea about this, Draco! I thought we were going to be something!" Tears came to his eyes so quickly they were falling before Harry even thought to try and blink them away.

"Harry," Draco ran forward. Harry tried to step back only to have the dresser block him. The blonde cupped Harry's face in his hands and peppered small kisses over his nose and cheeks, whispering his name again and again.

"Harry, please don't…please don't cry. I love you…please don't cry."

"I don't understand. Draco…I love you. Why don't you want me to love you?"

The blonde took Harry in his arms, pressing his mouth firmly against Harry's ear. "I do want you to," he whispered softly, "I'm sorry. I love you…I'm sorry."

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Soooo, that may not have been as "hot" as many of you are used to, but I hope you still liked it :) It was kinda my first time writing a scene like that so I was kinda trying to keep it tasteful. Anyway! I'll stop babbling now...

**Please review if you approve of sexy shower scenes :)**


	25. Seemingly Perfect

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG for dramatic sequences and innuendo

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: So we are now beginning our climb into the crescendo of the story! Get ready for drama and angst and even more angst! Thank you guys for all of your lovely reviews and messages! They make me so happy OwO It's like my own personal little Christmas every day! Sorry these last couple chapters have been so short...but the next chapter will make up for it I promise!

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Make my wish come true, let darkness slip aside,_

_Hiding all our hope, mocking what we treasure._

_Battles we can win if we believe our souls,_

_Heading for the light till dawn._

_Fate will not leave you,_

_Hate will not heal you,_

_Pray, and one day peace shall flow everywhere._

-Serah's Theme, FFXIII

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

The next week of Harry's life was the most perfect he'd ever had. And of each day, waking up was his favorite part. Every morning he would awake in a warm tangle of limbs to the sound of Draco's light breathing. Draco never looked more beautiful than when he slept—everything in his face was soft, and at peace. The blonde never slept long after Harry awoke though. He seemed to have a way of knowing that Harry was watching.

Then would come Harry's second favorite part of the day. Draco would blink sleepily, and when he finally saw Harry he would smile a smile that shamed the morning sun. It made Harry's heart flutter strangely and he would always laugh despite himself. He couldn't help it really.

After the night of Harry's birthday, the two never mentioned their fight. Indeed, Draco rather seemed to have forgotten about it completely. But honestly, Harry didn't think much over it either—he hardly had the time to. He was too enveloped by Draco, who, once he was awake—and filled with his daily double shot of coffee—was a never-resting ball of energy. They went to parks, stores, restaurants, and every night before they went to bed they would take a midnight flight among the stars. And way up in the midnight black sky they would stop and hover close together, and for all either of them knew or cared it was just them, all alone in the world with nothing but a moment and a breathless kiss.

No, no word, even perfection, could ever adequately describe what Draco was to him. There, lying in his bed wrapped in Draco's arms, he felt a total sense of peace, and for the first time he could remember life seemed…soothing and—fulfilling.

"Draco?" Harry said, early one Tuesday morning.

Draco hummed in his ear, not quite awake.

"I love you."

"Love you too," he mumbled back, kissing Harry's ear softly.

Harry couldn't help but smile, "Hey, Draco?"

The blonde grumbled and stretched his legs languidly, "You're never going to let me get back to sleep are you?"

The Gryffindor curled further into Draco's heat and shook his head childishly. He inhaled deeply, relishing in the crisp clean smell of his body-wash on Draco's skin. Maybe it was just a possessive thing, but he liked that the blonde used his things. To him, it made everything seem so much more intimate. He'd never shared anything like this with anyone before.

"I know you said before that you think this will end," Harry felt Draco's arms tightened around him, "but I hope you're wrong. I don't want this to end."

"I'm sure you'll get sick of me sooner or later."

Harry pushed himself up suddenly and he saw Draco blink awake. They stared at each other then, for a long moment

"Draco don't…I don't think you understand."

With an amused smirk, the Slytherin propped his elbow up and rested his head in his palm. He looked down at Harry, long and hard, "What's gotten into you, Potter?"

Harry grimaced, "Don't call me that."

Laughing, Draco raised his other hand to cup Harry's cheek, trailing his thumb across Harry's lower lip as his hand slid down. "I'm sorry—old habits die hard and all. Now, _Harry_, what's wrong?"

"Draco," Harry placed his hand over the blonde's and held it tight, "when I tell you that I love you, what do you think I mean?"

Draco's grey eyes brightened, "I think you mean, Draco—sex god extraordinaire—I love it when you bugger me till I can't even remember my own name."

"I'm being serious," Harry growled.

"Oh, so you don't think I'm a sex god then? Harry you wound me!"

"I swear I'll smack you're pretty little—"

The blonde's eyes widened playfully, "Oh! Alert the Prophet! No! Alert the Ministry! Abuse I say! I'll slander your name yet."

"Draco," Harry squeezed his hand somberly. He watched Draco's expression lose its mischief and fall into a brooding confusion. He looked almost pained by Harry's seriousness, and the Gryffindor felt his stomach knot in reaction.

"There's something wrong, isn't there."

"Of course not!" Harry replied quickly, "No that's not it at all…quite the opposite actually."

Draco's brows knitted, "Then what is it?"

Harry couldn't help the sudden flush that heated his cheeks. He knew that all the things he was thinking would be hard to say—he knew they would be embarrassing and awkward, and that by saying something he could potentially ruin the fragile balance he and Draco had created for themselves. He had no delusions about the delicacy of their world. They were only defined to themselves, and the binding between them had yet to be realized in words. Harry loved Draco, and he knew that Draco loved him, but it wasn't enough. He needed to know its depth—he needed to know he wasn't plunging head first into a shallow pool.

"I mean that this past week with you has been perfect," Harry paused, fumbling for words.

"I think it's been perfect too. Harry, I don't—"

"Just hold on a second. I need to get this out and I want to do it right." Harry dropped his gaze to Draco's chest, distantly admiring the smooth alabaster skin, shining gold in the sunlight. The blonde's hand was still gripped tightly in his own—warm, firm, and real. Slowly he pulled the hand away from his neck and his eyes immediately found the ugly black mark that stained the Slytherin's arm. Harry trailed his thumb across the thick white scar that ran through the tattoo's length, and he could feel Draco's pulse quicken beneath his touch. The blonde let out a shuddering breath that stirred Harry's hair.

"Do you not like me touching it?" Harry asked gently.

Draco glanced down at his arm and back up again, and his mouth twitched down as if he were pained in some way, "It hurts me to remember the things that came with it. It hurts me to know that when you look at me, this is part of what you see." Draco averted his gaze, his expression suddenly becoming a defensive hollow mask. Harry could almost feel the Slytherin's soul retreating back into its icy shell and shriveling with self-loathing.

Abandoning Draco's hand, Harry softly took the blonde's chin between his thumb and forefinger. For a moment, Harry saw Draco's eyes flash with surprise before giving way to a muted defeat. Harry wondered at it—why Draco should look at him like he didn't understand.

Harry's grip tightened, "I don't want you to say that kind of thing to me ever again. You understand?" His voice trembled with feeling as he spoke. He didn't speak out of anger, so much as frustration—frustration that Draco simply didn't see.

"Harry…" Draco sounded broken.

"Draco, I love you. And I know—I know you may think they're just words, but they're not. Not to me. You can't possibly imagine what the last year of my life has been like, and I know yours was probably damn near as unimaginable. But when all of it was done…by then I was so stripped and broken that nothing even mattered anymore," Harry spoke fiercely, his emerald eyes burning like green fire, and his body pulsing hotly with every pounding beat of his heart. "I lost myself somewhere along the way. And I guess…I had accepted that there wasn't anyone left whole enough to piece me back together again. And then you came along."

Draco's eyes suddenly misted, "Harry, you really don't have to—"

"I don't know why," Harry breathed, leaning in close, "but somehow, I think it had to be you. You were the only one left who could make me _feel_ something. Even in our anger, we had passion. You had to have felt it—I know you did. Draco, you're the one who brought me back. I'm yours and I don't care who knows—Ron, Hermione, Ginny, any of them."

Sometime during Harry's speech, the blonde had begun to tremble. He blinked several times, shaking his head, "But Ginny…you—you want to tell them about us?"

Harry had never heard Draco stammer before, but something about it caused his lips to lift into an easy smile, "I would. But I want you to want that too."

"But, why?"

"Because," Harry's hand stretched to cup Draco's jaw in his palm, "I don't want to feel like we have to hide ourselves away in here. I feel like it makes it all a lie…somehow." Harry smirked, "Gryffindors don't lie you know."

Draco snorted, "Oh right, and I suppose unicorns don't shoot rainbows out their arse as well."

"I don't remember Hagrid ever mentioning that."

"Well I must be mistaken then. After all, everyone at Hogwarts knows that Hagrid is the fastest broom in the shed."

Harry frowned and allowed his hand to drop to the thin cotton sheets, "So, you don't want to tell people then." For some reason he couldn't quite manage to hide the sag in his shoulders as a crestfallen pressure gathered behind his eyes.

"Harry," Draco had sobered again, "I just think it's too soon." The blonde dipped his head forward in attempt to catch Harry's gaze, but Harry refused to look at him.

Draco laughed very softly, so there was almost nothing but hot breath pooling against Harry's mouth and cheeks, "Now I think it's you who is misunderstanding me."

There was a long breathless pause.

"I'm a horrible person you know," Draco continued with a small sigh.

Harry gave a small, dejected snort, "No you're not."

"But I am."

The Gryffindor's eyes flicked up.

"You see," the blonde's voice was a gentle hum, soft and caressing, "if it were up to me, I would never tell anyone."

"Why not?" Harry asked, not knowing if he really wanted the answer.

"This is one of the things that makes us so different." With a coy smile, Draco rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head. He gazed up at the ceiling, his eyes dancing in thought, "I suppose that if something good happens to you, it is in your nature to want to share it—it's the one quality I've seen in you that is truly Gryffindor—besides your idiocy of course." The blonde glanced over at him, his expression mirthful.

Harry huffed, but smiled nevertheless.

"Now, when I get something I like, I keep it for myself. The world," Draco's expression became abruptly somber, "it has a way of ruining things. It can take an instance of happiness and destroy it so brutally you wonder if it was ever even there to begin with. When we're here, it's like we're safe—it's just me and you and nothing can touch us. You'll have to forgive me for it, Harry, but if you're giving me a choice between staying here and going out there, I'll always choose here and I'll always choose you. If I can keep you for myself, then I will."

Harry's skin prickled all over, and for some reason he couldn't hold Draco's gaze. He only had one question, "Do you really think we're so fragile?"

"Everything can be broken," Harry felt the blonde tremble with feeling, "_Everything_."

Harry fell on his back with a heavy sigh. He could feel Draco's eyes boring into him, searching. Harry would've given him a reaction if he could have. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he sighed again. He supposed he'd never really thought about the things Draco spoke of before. Well no…that wasn't exactly true. He'd told the wizarding world about the return of Voldemort, and they had destroyed his name like it was nothing—like they had wanted to watch something they'd once care for burn. And burn it had. But Harry had never really cared about what other people thought of him. He _cared_, but not in the same way he cared about what Ron, and Hermione, and…Ginny thought. They, who had stayed with him through it all. Didn't _they_ have the right to know? Why would they ever want to break Harry's happiness? Maybe Draco had never had friends like that. Maybe he just didn't know. The whole world wasn't out to destroy them.

The Slytherin's cool hand slithered across Harry's stomach, sending pleasant chills dancing across his skin. "Harry," Draco breathed softly, "listen, there's something—"

He was broken off by a sudden sharp rapping at the window.

Harry frowned, turning his eyes to the window, "An owl? This early?"

The bed shook suddenly as Draco practically leapt over him to get to the owl. Harry sat up, growing nervous as he watched the abnormally frantic way the blonde's fingers shook as he unlocked the window and pushed up the pane.

"Draco?"

"It's my mother's owl. How he even found me…" Draco trailed off distractedly. He had the note the owl had brought clenched tightly in his hands, and his grey eyes were flying across the words fervently. Then he went still, his shoulders stiff and his breathing slow. He looked up at Harry with glassy eyes that made the dark haired boy's body quiver.

"My father…he…he's…" The air between them went stagnant, looming with something dark Harry couldn't quite name. But he saw it there, in that moment, stretched in the pale dread of Draco's mouth, and pushing heavily down on his thin frame, making him look small and crippled in some way. The knowledge hung over them—both of them knew what neither was willing to say.

The letter fell from his fingers, floating to the ground with barely a whispering crackle.

Suddenly, Draco's eyes came alive with a wild panic, "I have to go." And then he was sweeping across the room and gathering his things.

"Go?" Harry jumped off the bed, grabbing for his boxers and pulling them on, "Do you need me to go with you?"

Draco wouldn't look at him. He was almost fully dressed now, in a dirty wrinkled shirt and black jeans. "No. You should stay here."

Harry simply stood, staring as the blonde raced around the room, desperately avoiding his gaze. He felt his heart sink. He didn't know what to say. "But," Harry fumbled, hands shaking, "won't you be alone?"

"Mother will be there," the Slytherin answered quickly.

"When will you be back?" Harry asked after some time.

The blonde stilled. He was standing in the doorway now, his bookbag slung over his shoulder, and his hand gripping the doorframe so tightly his knuckles were white. Harry couldn't see his face from where he stood, but he could feel Draco's pain nevertheless.

"I'll owl you." And without another word, Draco Malfoy was gone.

A warm breeze blew through the room from the still open window, and Harry heard the soft rustle of the letter being pushed across the floor. Harry blinked at it before mechanically stooping down to pick it up. He held the parchment gingerly, his fingers overly sensitive to the rough dry feel of the paper against his skin.

_Dearest Draco,_

_ Your father, I fear, has taken a turn for the worse. He has asked for your presence at the Manor. Please understand that I will not be at the Manor when you arrive—I cannot bear any more of it. I love you dearly, and I hope you can forgive me._

_ Love,_

_ Mother_

The letter fell to the ground once more. Harry was shaking so badly his vision had begun to tremble. Something was terribly wrong—there was a horrible feeling of trepidation that he just couldn't shake. It was like pieces of a puzzle falling together all at once.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"Master?" Kreacher hobbled into the room, "Mr. Malfoy has just left."

Harry didn't look at the house elf, "I know, Kreacher."

Kreacher shifted and wrinkled his long brown nose, "Well, Kreacher was wondering when we should expect him back."

"I…I don't know," Harry breathed.

"You don't know, Master?" Kreacher actually sounded distressed.

"Could you fix me some breakfast?" Harry tried to keep his voice even, "I'm hungry."

"Of course, Master"

"And fetch my broom too, will you?"

"Will you be going after Master Malfoy?"

Harry clenched his teeth, "Just do it, please."

The house elf grumbled under his breath but assented to Harry's commands and bowed before exiting the room.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Man! I can't believe we are already coming up on the denouement! You know all those questions that you probably have? Well, they'll most probably all be answered in the next chapter (or two lol)!

**Review if you're excited about finally getting answers to your questions! :D**


	26. The Unbreakable Vow

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for dramatic sequences and violence

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: Sorry this chapter took so long to post XP it's kind of an important chapter and I kept reading it over and over again trying to get it perfect...but I guess I'm one of those people that's never fully satisfied so I just decided to post it and hope for the best (but sorry for any stupid mistakes). Lol hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Sweet dreams are made of this,_

_Who am I to disagree?_

_Travel the world and the seven seas,_

_Everybody's looking for something._

_Some of them want to use you,_

_Some of them want to get used by you,_

_Some of them want to abuse you,_

_Some of them want to be abused._

-Emily Browning

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Hours passed, long and slow.

Harry didn't know what to do. The first shades of night had already begun to stretch across the sky, coloring it with deep hues of purple and red. At that moment, Harry was pacing in the foyer, broom clutched tightly in his right hand. There had still been no word from Draco, though Harry had sent several letters to the Manor with Atheria. The only thing that kept him put was the worry that as soon as he left, Draco would return and find the house abandoned. And if the blonde was in any sort of emotional distress—well, Harry didn't know what sorts of conclusions he would jump to.

But how long was he supposed to wait? A day? A week? He needed to know something—anything! Just sitting here doing nothing was driving him mad. The idea that Draco was sitting somewhere, alone and in pain—why had he lied? Why had he said his mother would be there? Harry was plagued. Was his presence that much of a burden on the blonde?

Maybe he was over-thinking this. Maybe Draco had just wanted to be alone with his father. He was a Slytherin after all; he was accustomed to dealing with things on his own.

But still…

Someone knocked on the door.

Harry whipped around, his heart springing up into his throat. The broom clattered to the floor as Harry raced to the door. He grabbed the cold brass handle and pulled the door open.

"Draco," Harry breathed, his eyes going wide. The Slytherin stood before him, his blonde hair wild and windswept. Mud caked his clothes and a deep blue bruise was blooming across a reddened cheek. Harry saw the wetness gleaming in Draco's bloodshot eyes, and he felt his heart crack.

"Harry," Draco positioned the bag he was carrying higher on his shoulder. His hand was wrapped so tightly around the strap that his knuckles were a gruesome stark white. Raising his free hand to Harry's chest, he pushed the Gryffindor back into the dark entryway, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Draco, what's happened?" Harry grabbed Draco's hand in his own. It was freezing.

The Slytherin's eyes glittered with an unbridled pain, "Harry, come away with me." Draco's whisper was like a rake across the silence.

Harry couldn't help the nervous laugh that bubbled up his throat, "What?"

"Dammit, Harry," Draco fisted the material of Harry's shirt—the same way he always had in their years at Hogwarts, "you love me, don't you?"

"Y-yes of course."

"Then come with me!" His face seemed to crumple with desperation. "Merlin, Harry—please, just trust me! We don't have time!" Trembling, Draco shook him once, hard. Tears were now streaming freely down his cheeks, and his face was blotched with emotion.

Harry felt a cold streak of fear shoot straight down his spine. His grip on the blonde tightened, "Don't have time for what? Draco, what's going on?"

"Harry, please!" The blonde tugged on his shirt once more, "Let's go! Please! Let's just go!" He was yelling now, and his voice seemed to break when he spoke Harry's name. His grey eyes were wide, his brows bulled tightly together, and the bruise on his cheek looked even darker in the dim light.

"Draco, what's—"

A resounding blast sent the two flying backwards.

Harry felt his back slam to floor, causing his vision to momentarily flash white with pain. His mind was whirling and his ears were ringing in shock. Instinctually, he grabbed for his wand, and at the same time his left hand grappled for Draco. He found his wand first. He pointed it towards where he only hoped the blast had come from, a stunning spell on the tip of his tongue—

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Harry's wand flew from his hand as his eyes swam into focus. He knew that voice. But it couldn't be…

"Ron, get him off the floor will you?" Ginny gestured at him lazily from the destroyed doorway.

Ron stomped towards him through grey dust and shadows. He grabbed Harry by the arm and hauled him to his feet, his fingers digging roughly into Harry's skin.

Harry pulled against him glaring, "Ron, what the hell are you doing?"

But Ron wasn't looking at him, he was looking at Ginny with eyes that held a cloudiness Harry wished he couldn't discern. He knew that look. He'd seen it before. A wave of cold swept over him that stilled his very heart.

The Imperius Curse.

Harry pulled again, harder this time, "Ron?" But it was no use—Ron had always been nearly a head taller than himself, and all muscle. His grip was like iron.

Ginny grinned, her white teeth shining in the darkness, "Hermione, retrieve Harry's wand would you?"

Hermione walked towards him with less than her usual grace, the same hazy fog misting her eyes. She plucked his wand from the debris and retreated back to Ginny's side.

Harry couldn't breathe, "Hermione! Hermione, listen to me! You have to fight it! Herm—"

"She can't hear you, Harry," Ginny's voice was like a chill on the wind. She took Harry's wand from Hermione and pocketed it.

"Ginny," Harry looked at her, and like tumblers, everything seemed to click together in his mind, "No. You're not her…are you."

Ginny gave him a pouting smirk and pressed a finger to the corner of her lips, "Of course I'm her. I am she and she is me. Though," she shrugged, "I don't really expect you to understand. I didn't before either, but I do now." Her eyes darted to the side, sparkling with malice, "Draco, do get up will you? You're being quite rude."

Harry turned his head to see Draco slowly pushing himself to his feet, his bag still clutched tightly in his hand. Dust caked his hair and skin so thickly that there seemed no difference between him and the shadowed entryway.

Harry's heart thundered in his chest, every instinct within him screaming at Draco to run. But he couldn't risk speaking—Ginny was already armed. So he threw every ounce of will and magic he had into begging Draco to look at him. If only he would just look!

"Now," Ginny's smile was feral, "you've brought that wand haven't you?"

Time slammed to a stop.

Draco's eyes narrowed, "My father is dead! You said that—"

"I said that I would release him from his curse. It just so happens that the only release is death."

Draco's jaw tightened visibly, but he didn't respond.

"The _wand_, Draco," the redhead's eyes sharpened, her gaze slicing through the air like blades.

Harry's heart was pounding. No! It couldn't be! There was no way! This was a dream! It _had_ to be a dream! But as Draco bent to reach into his bag, Harry knew it was no dream. Ron's hands gripped him hard, and Hermione stood motionless as Draco raised his hand—the Elder Wand grasped tightly in his fist.

"No!" Harry bellowed, "Draco—"

"Silence him," Ginny snapped, and suddenly Ron's hand was fastened over his mouth, "_The wand, Draco_!"

Draco's eyes met Harry's for the first time since Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had broken in. There was no strength in them at all, just defeat and heavy sorrow, and something else that rocked Harry to the core: guilt.

"All coming together is it now, Harry?" Ginny cooed. She stalked over to Draco and snatched the wand from his hand, her eyes dancing delightedly. The blonde's bag dropped from his hand with a loud thump.

Harry looked at Ginny, trying desperately to hold together the things that were breaking inside of him.

The young redhead turned back to Harry, and the movement was marked with a ghostlike grace, "I can see the question in your eyes. You're trying to ask why." She began walking towards him, slowly, her steps careful and pronounced. The shadows in the room seemed to follow her and cover her expression in a veil of darkness. "You know, I asked the same question over and over again all last year. And you know what was funny? It was always the same answer—_you_. You were the one who made the first domino fall." Ginny stopped. She was close to him now—close enough for him to see the bloodshot whites of her eyes. "Tom always told me it would end in blood."

Harry's heart stopped.

"I never believed him though. You see, I'd always had this sort of blind faith in you. Then my brother died." Ginny spoke the words as if she couldn't feel them anymore. And Harry saw something change in her then, as clearly as he'd ever seen anything in his life. Ginny blinked, and her eyes flashed red, and he felt a hauntingly familiar pain rip through his forehead. Harry felt his entire body tremble as a treacherous thought raced through his mind—the person in front of him now wasn't Ron's little sister anymore.

Ginny's lips curled, like she knew what it was that Harry thought, "It's funny how death changes people isn't it, Harry? Especially young people. It's because they never think about it you know—they think they're invincible."

Harry shook his head. Everything was spinning and the tightness of Ron's hand over his nose and mouth was making it hard to breathe. This couldn't be happening—this couldn't be real. Destroying the diary had killed Tom. He'd _watched_ it happen! This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be.

"I suppose this is all quite overwhelming for you isn't it?" her voice was laced with a mocking pity. "I have to admit though, I was surprised by a couple things as well." Ginny's eyes sharpened and darted to the side, "Draco, come here."

There was a moment of harsh, still silence.

"I said, _come here_," her dark eyes flashed like lightning, and Harry heard the light sound of footsteps on creaking wood. When Draco finally came into his line of sight, Harry felt something in his stomach quiver.

Ginny grabbed the blonde by the side of the neck, and forced him down to his knees, the Elder Wand pressed firmly against his throat. Harry jerked against Ron, but to no avail. A scream was building in the bottom of his lungs, but he held his breath against it.

It was a dream. This couldn't be happening.

"You look frightened, Harry," Ginny teased, "Afraid I'm going to hurt your precious little fuck boy?"

The Gryffindor's eyes went wide.

"Oh, yes," she flashed a razor-like smile, "I know everything about the two of you. It's all gone so much better than I planned."

Draco's shoulders were trembling, "Harry, I didn't—"

Ginny silenced him with a sharp hiss, but Draco flinched as if she had just slapped him. He was afraid of her.

When her eyes returned to Harry, they were glittering once more—her madness shining like a white-hot light that couldn't be concealed. Slowly, she moved the Elder Wand so that it was pressed against her own throat. Draco's mouth opened in an inaudible gasp.

"Want to see something fun?" she asked, grinning widely.

Harry very much didn't want to see anything she might consider fun.

"Watch," she drew the wand back slightly, "_Lacero_!"

Blood bloomed across her throat as the spell sliced through her skin. Then, Harry's ears were filled with the sound of Draco's voice, screaming in pain. Mind whirling, Harry looked down at the Slytherin and his stomach dropped with dread. Blood poured down Draco's neck, like rose petals falling over snow. The spell had cut him too.

Harry jerked sharply and managed to free one of his hands long enough to pry Ron's hand from his mouth. "Stop!" he yelled, his voice hoarse with emotion, "Stop it, please! You'll kill him!"

"_Vulnera Sanentur_!" Ginny's wound mended itself, but her blood remained, slithering down the collar of her shirt like a red snake. "It doesn't happen the other way around, you know. I could cut him with that spell all day long and I wouldn't have one scratch to show for it. Quite remarkable, isn't it?"

But Harry wasn't paying attention to her. Draco's wound was still open. His hands were clutched tightly around his neck, and his mouth hung open as he choked on blood and air. "Harry," blood gurgled in his throat and spilled wetly over his lips as he spoke.

"How endearing," Ginny stroked Draco's hair, her eyes never leaving Harry's, "the boy who betrayed you wants you to save him."

"Just because he took the Elder Wand doesn't mean—"

"You think it was just the wand?" Ginny laughed, though the sound held no humor. "Oh, you dumb, wretched boy. He has _always_ been mine. Who do you think sent him to you that day on the train? Why do you think he came to the Burrow? Why do you think he was welcomed with such open arms?" Something dark and cold was coiling in Harry's veins. It made him feel sick, and his throat burned like he had just swallowed acid. "Everything that's happened, has happened because of me."

Harry shook his head weakly, "No."

"Did you really think that Lord Voldemort would so lightly leave a Horcrux in the hands of a Malfoy?" she asked. "He bound me to them—my spirit in the diary was magically connected to the eldest male. He did it to make sure that Lucius' interest was…properly invested. If my seventh of Voldemort's soul died, then Lucius would die as well. So as it seems, you did enough to kill Lucius—albeit slowly—but not enough to kill me."

"Ginny, stop it!" Harry yelled, "I killed Tom! I destroyed the diary with the basilisk fang!"

The redhead arched a thin brow, "You think such things are so easily destroyed? You may have destroyed the part of me that lived in that diary yes, but never the part of me that lived in the Weasley girl. Her mind was mine for months before you stabbed the diary, and during that time her soul was bound to mine…maybe not completely, but deeply enough. Magic that deep, can never truly be uprooted. Only death can destroy magic like that." She fisted Draco's hair roughly, and the blonde gasped in pain as she lowered her face to his. Her skin looked pale, even next to his—there was no color in it save the thin vines of blue veins that branched across her neck and cheeks. "That's why Lucius has been trying to kill him—to save him from me. But in the end he couldn't do it. He didn't even have the courage to save his only begotten son."

"Ginny…"

She straightened, "After you destroyed my diary, I'll admit that I was weakened…so I laid latent, always hiding in the darkest shadows of her mind, feeding off her anger and her hate, waiting for the moment I would be strong enough—and she weak enough—for me to return. You cannot possibly imagine the elation I felt when her brother was killed. She always knew I was there you know, deep down. Sometimes she would try to fight me—silly pathetic attempts. But after the attempt that nearly destroyed her house, well…she practically gave herself to me after that.

"And once she was finally mine, all there was left to do was exact my revenge on you," Ginny's smile was a cruel, rancid thing, "and Draco was so very helpful with that."

Slowly, she moved to stand behind Draco. Then, with both hands, she wound her fingers through his white blonde hair and pulled back, hard. Harry looked down at him. His skin was several shades paler than normal, and there were rings around his eyes shaded a sickly blue, mottled with shades of bruised black. Grey eyes stared back up at Harry, but they didn't see him, for they had grown dim and distant.

"Stop," Harry repeated in a breath, "you're going to kill him"

"You don't even know what he's done to you, and you still want to save him?" Her grip on Draco's hair tightened and a fresh wave of blood spilled over his fingers. The red liquid poured over his skin like a crimson blanket.

Harry shut his eyes and felt hot tears spill over his cheeks. He couldn't look anymore. The pain of it all was making him sick. "Yes."

There was an anguishing pause.

"Promise me you'll come quietly—promise you won't struggle, or try to escape, and promise me you'll do exactly as I say—and I'll heal him."

Harry took a deep shuddering breath, trying to escape the feeling that was crushing against his chest. "All right," he said, "I promise."

"Make me an Unbreakable Vow."

Harry's eyes snapped open and locked with Ginny's. They were so dark, like a starless midnight sky, and yet they pulled at him, because he knew that darkness—he'd seen it before, in Voldemort…and in himself. He remembered what it had been like to be lost in that darkness; how safe he'd felt, watching the world from somewhere so deep. Safe…and hollow.

"Harry," Draco whispered, "don't."

Harry looked down at the blonde once more, and felt a surprising swell of love. Because even if everything Ginny said was true—even if everything that'd happened had been a lie—Draco had still been the one who'd saved him. Even though the pain that scorched him now was worse than a thousand Cruciatus curses, he couldn't hate Draco. Because, there was still a part of him clinging tight to the words they had spoken to each other just this morning. No, Ginny was wrong. She had to be.

He just needed time.

"Fine," Harry said, with more bravery than he felt, "I'll make the vow. But you have to promise to heal him."

Draco sputtered, his lips forming words without sound.

Ginny's eyes lit like a spark in the wind, "Deal." She shoved Draco to the ground. "Hermione, come. And Ron, let Harry go."

Ron's hands released him, and Harry went to his knees, grabbing Draco by the shoulders and pulling him close. "It's all right, I'm going to fix this." Draco shook his head, his eyes bright with feeling.

"Harry," Ginny cooed, "come on now."

Reluctantly, Harry released the blonde and got to his feet. Hermione stood close by Ginny's side, her wand poised and ready. Then, as if in slow motion, Ginny put her hand out. For some reason, Harry was violently reminded of his first few moments in Hogwarts, just before entering the Great Hall for the first time, when a young pale blonde boy had offered out his hand with a coy smile and malevolence gleaming in his eyes. Harry raised his hand and clasped Ginny's own. Pain erupted in his scar, so suddenly he felt his knees buckle and threaten to give. Ginny squeezed his hand harder, chuckling under her breath. Harry blinked away his tears and steadied himself, squeezing Ginny's hand as tightly as he could and glaring for all he was worth.

"Hermione," Ginny said, "you may begin."

The brunette moved to stand over their joined hands. She tapped her wand once on each of their wrists, and Harry watched as a silvery band of magic wound around their hands, gripping them like a molten snake.

Hermione spoke slowly, her voice completely void of feeling, as if her mouth was speaking words she didn't understand. "Harry James Potter, do you henceforth promise to follow all commands of Thomas Marvolo Riddle, to do as he wishes and act in accordance to his desires?" The words were like a series of acidic shocks that traveled up his arm and through his body, and he could feel Tom in the magic—Harry could feel his presence like poison in his blood. "If you will do these things, say I will."

"I will."

The magic that bound them gave a sudden pulsing shock.

"And do you, Thomas Marvolo Riddle promise to heal Draco Thomas Malfoy of the wound you gave him and—"

"And never hurt him like that again," Harry interjected fiercely, forcing himself to ignore the throbbing pain in his head.

"—and never hurt him in such a manner henceforth. If you will do these things, say I will."

The redhead smirked, looking cooler than a winter night, "I will."

The bond gave another shock, sharper this time. Hermione tapped her wand on both their wrists once more and the band of magic vanished in a wisp of smoke, "The vow has been made."

"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny released Harry's hand and pointed her wand down at Draco, "_Vulnera Sanentur_."

Then suddenly, a weight slammed against Harry's chest, throwing him back against the wall with a blinding force. Harry blinked through the stars that danced across his vision, gasping for air. Draco's face swam into focus, close and contorted with rage.

"You lumbering idiot!" the Slytherin yelled, pressing his arm painfully against Harry's chest, "Do you realize what you've done!"

"Let him go, Draco." Ginny commanded tersely.

Jaw clenched, Draco stepped back, retreating to Ginny's side.

Harry stood shuddering, blood pounding in his ears like a drum. Air filled his lungs but it only made him feel worse. His head was still throbbing with pain, making him feel lightheaded, and somehow not all there. He was still pressed up against the wall, and he knew it was the only thing keeping on his feet.

"Draco?" Harry's voice sounded broken and weak.

Ginny's grin was absolutely and undeniably wicked, "Come here, Harry."

Harry stood still, his gaze fixed on the blonde. Draco glared back at him, his grey eyes as sharp as daggers. The sound of Harry's quivering breath was the only thing that broke the stagnant air. His lips formed Draco's name, not daring to voice his silent plea. A moment hung between them as time stood still. Then, the Slytherin stepped back, shaking his head, and Harry felt his heart shatter.

"I said _come_."

Agony lanced through Harry's chest, as if his entire body was caving in on itself. He took a staggering step forward and felt the pain ease. But within a moment it was back again, shredding through him like shards of glass, commanding that he keep moving. Harry stumbled forward, falling to his knees at Ginny's feet. Tears welled in his eyes as the pain left him, and a harsh moment of clarity seemed to fill the silence.

"Don't you just love Unbreakable Vows?" Ginny murmured, running her fingers through Harry's hair in a way that made his stomach churn. "Now, Harry, I do expect you to come quietly. We have so much to do. And maybe, if you're good, I'll tell you a story. Oh, and by the way—happy birthday, Harry."

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Well that was dramatic XD I know that there are probably still a lot of questions...but just wait till the next chapter! And as for the plot...just go along with it ok? :) I think you'll like how it all comes together.

**Please review! I worked really hard on this chapter!**


	27. In Noctem

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for dramatic sequences and violence

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: Angst angst angst...are you prepared for it? Because it's about to happen...

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_I set fire to the rain_

_Watched it pour as I touched your face_

_And it burned while I cried_

_'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name_

_I set fire to the rain_

_And I threw us into the flames_

_And it felt something die_

_'Cause I knew that was the last time, the last time_

-Adele

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Harry awoke in the morning, cold and wet, with the hard roughness of stone beneath him. Blinking groggily, he sat up, staring at his surroundings with a blank sort of detachment. He hadn't been surprised when Ginny had brought him back to Malfoy Manor, and even less so when she had thrown him in one of the dungeon cells. She'd left him there and hadn't come back since. That had been a couple of days ago, or at least he thought it had been a couple of days ago. After he'd been taken, time just started running together. Hours and days didn't matter, not anymore. He hadn't tried to escape. He couldn't. Draco had betrayed him…he'd stolen the Elder Wand…and he'd…

Harry curled his knees into his chest and pressed his face into his jeans, determined not to cry again. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing his pain, even if he was being ripped apart inside. His stubborn will was the only thing he had at this point. No one was coming for him. Ron and Hermione were under Ginny's spell, and Harry couldn't bare to hope that the rest of the Weasleys hadn't come to share the same fate. Everyone else—Neville, Luna, Hagrid, McGonagall—they would never notice in time. He could die tonight and no one would have a clue for weeks.

He was utterly and completely alone.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke him from his reverie. Harry looked up to see Draco rounding the corner, holding a tray. The blonde walked towards the iron bars slowly, and though Harry couldn't see his expression in the dim light, he could tell from the stiffness in his shoulders that he was uncomfortable.

"Potter?"

His unfamiliar address was like a knife in Harry's stomach.

"I've brought you something to eat," Draco set the tray down, sliding it through the small slot at the base of the bars. The sound of metal grinding against stone echoed off the walls like crackling thunder.

Harry remained silent and still. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Potter, I know you're not asleep. I know you can hear me." Draco wrapped his thin white fingers around the bars and leaned his head between them, "You haven't eaten in days, and from what I hear, starvation is a rather unpleasant way to die."

The responding silence was stark and definite.

"Harry?"

Harry's heart cracked like glass. "Don't call me that," he hissed in a voice like acid, "Just go away."

"Look, I know you're mad at me right now, but you have to understand that I had to—"

"_Mad_ at you?" Harry snapped, his anger tearing through him like an infectious fire, "You fucking betrayed me, Draco!"

Even in the dark, Harry could see Draco's flinch. And like a stupid fool, the Gryffindor felt a sudden swell of guilt. Why? Why, even now, did he care? But it was a stupid question. He knew why…and that only hurt him more.

Draco turned, pressing his back against the bars and buried his face in his hands. Harry had never seen him so broken—not even back in sixth year. The dim flickering candlelight muted the harsh edges of shadow in such a way that every line looked fractured, and Draco himself looked as if he might disappear at any moment. "I never wanted this," his voice was the ghost of a whisper.

Harry merely snorted, refusing to be lulled by the sharp pangs of longing in his heart.

The blonde took a deep staggering breath, "She's not crazy you know. She is who she says—she is Tom Riddle now."

"She's not—"

"She is," Draco hissed assertively. "She is the only reason my father lived as long as he did."

Harry scoffed, and lowered his head down into his arms once more, only to feel something hard pressing against his outer thigh. Curious, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the keychain Luna had given him at his birthday. He didn't remember having put there, but for some reason he was glad that he had. It was his last tie to the outside world—a world that seemed so far away now. Harry ran his thumb along the slick wood before stuffing the keychain back into its previous holding.

The two boys sat in silence. The stillness of the air crept along Harry's skin like thousands of spiders. Why did Draco have to torture him with his presence? If Ginny was truly possessed once more, and meant to kill him, why not just let him alone to die? Or did the Slytherin delight in seeing him like this—like he once had—cold and broken on the floor.

"I thought I could…" Draco's voice trailed off in a choked whisper, "I thought I could save him. I had to try, Harry. I couldn't just…" Something in the blonde's voice made Harry look up again, like some fracture in Draco's soul couldn't help but escape in his words. He'd heard Draco sound defeated before, but never like this. But he knew why. Lucius Malfoy was dead, and Harry couldn't even begin to imagine how his death had shattered Draco. That's what it had been about all along—Draco had been trying to save his father. And maybe, if Harry had been in his place, he would've tried to save his father too. But…at what point was the cost too much? A life for a life—Lucius' life in exchange for Harry's. Was that how it was supposed to have been? Probably so. Mere months ago, he and the Slytherin had hated each other. And perhaps…Draco still hated him now.

But no…the blonde couldn't hate him. Harry refused to believe it. He couldn't.

The darkness in the small cell seemed to press in around him, and the shadows of the bars stretched towards him like black swords. How blind he'd been. His one job had been to protect the Elder Wand, and he'd failed. Ginny had disarmed him…the wand obeyed her now. How had he so quickly ruined everything he'd worked so long to build?

"Oh, Draco!" a singsong voice rang down the corridor, causing Harry to cringe. He heard the soft pattering of footsteps growing nearer, and he pulled his knees tighter into his chest. If anything was worse than seeing Draco, it was seeing Ginny.

"I thought I'd find you down here," Ginny said, giggling childishly. "Come to torture our guest prematurely, have you?"

Draco didn't answer.

Harry flinched as he heard the gate to his cell squeal open. He could feel her every step towards him like a stabbing drum in his head.

She stopped not two feet in front of him. "Aren't you going to say hi to me, Harry?"

Harry ground his teeth together, ignoring her mockery.

"Harry, say hello."

He had known it was coming. The Gryffindor bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood, but it was no use. The power of the vow was too strong. Pain bubbled in his stomach and spread up into his chest, radiating out into his limbs until his entire body was writhing. With a gasp, Harry muttered a begrudging, "Hello."

"Good boy. Now look at me."

Harry did, trying to muster up a glare but knowing it came out half-formed. He wanted to hate her—he wanted to hate her with every fiber of his being, but he couldn't. He was tired, but more so he just didn't care anymore. Anger had been his constant intimate companion for more years than he cared to admit, and it taken its toll. It had eaten something away deep within him, and that spot in him was empty now. Harry wasn't even sure he _could_ hate anymore. Not a real hate at least.

Ginny's smile was about as half-hearted as Harry's glare. She looked at him curiously, her head tilted and her mouth pressed in a thin line. "You seem different. There's something lacking in your eyes."

"If you're going to kill me, I think I'd rather you just get it over and done with. All this talking seems rather senseless now, don't you think?"

Ginny's expression fell into hardness. In a swift, graceful motion, she knelt in front of him, her hand whipping out and grabbing his chin with more force than he thought her capable of. Her fingers were as cold as ice, "No no, Harry. It's not just about killing you. I have to see the light leave your eyes first—what fun would it be to kill you when the light is already gone? Tell me," she cocked her head and leaned in closer, "where did it go?"

Harry merely stared up at her, gazing up into her dark eyes that were once so blue.

Her fingers tightened, "Has Draco already spoiled my fun and told you everything?"

Silence filled the cold room.

"Answer me," she snarled.

"No" Harry said quietly, "he hasn't told me anything."

Ginny's eyes narrowed and she leaned in even closer. Harry could smell the sharp tang of blood on her breath. "Draco, pet," she called, "come stand by me."

The Slytherin's boots clacked against the stone as he slowly made his way into the cell to stand by Ginny. Her grip on Harry's chin wouldn't allow him to see the blonde, but he could feel his presence like a sharp thorn in his side.

"Look at him" Ginny's whispering voice was like an unpleasant shiver. She forced Harry's face to move so he was looking directly at Draco. The blonde was standing, his arms wrapped tight around his torso and his grey eyes fixed firmly on the ground. But Harry was glad that Draco wasn't looking at him—he didn't know if he could bear those eyes on him now. "Do you still love him? Answer me honestly now."

Harry barely suppressed the growl that rumbled in his throat, "Of course I do."

Draco pressed his eyes shut and Harry could see the muscles in his arms go tense.

Ginny pulled Harry's gaze back to her own, "Then aren't you curious…about everything he's done? Don't you want me to tell you?"

"No," he replied tersely, "I really don't."

"Oh, come now Harry, you're just being stubborn. Draco," she twisted to look back up at the blonde, "tell Harry that he's being ridiculous."

The blonde looked at him, his features suddenly trained into a cold hard mask. "You're being ridiculous, Potter," he said softly, without feeling.

Ginny grinned widely, "There now, you see? And I did promise to tell you a story." She released him and rose to her feet, her eyes suddenly gleaming manically. "Get up, Harry. I want to make sure you're paying attention."

Harry rose to his feet, not bothering to hide the fact that his legs shook in protest. The muscles in his back ached and his bones creaked as he moved, but he somehow managed to get himself upright. He leaned back against the wall and kept his gaze trained on his feet, determined not to look at Draco.

"Draco," Ginny tittered, "tie him up."

Harry looked up, frowning. Draco regarded Ginny for a long moment, and then turned to Harry with a question in his eyes that he dare not speak aloud. Slowly, the blonde lowered his hand to his wand pocket.

"No, not that way." With surprising deftness, Ginny retrieved the Elder Wand from her robes and with a simple flick, a pair of manacles appeared just above Harry's head. "There. You won't need your wand now." Her grin turned feral as the two boys eyed each other.

Draco swayed slightly as he stood, knowing he had to move but somehow unable to make the first step. A deep ragged sigh escaped him then, and when he moved towards Harry the tension between them tightened with a tangible ferocity. The blonde stopped just before him, close enough that Harry would brush his robes if he moved. Time seemed to slow as Draco reached down and took one of Harry's wrists in his hands. His fingers were soft and warm, and Harry's blood purred beneath his skin as his heart quickened. It was just a simple touch, Harry knew, but it was as potent as any kiss. Draco's hands began to shake as he maneuvered Harry's hand above his head. Harry felt the cold metal slide against his wrist, its rough rusted texture so different from the fingers that gripped him. A sharp click echoed through the room as the binding locked around Harry's wrist.

The Slytherin moved to grab Harry's second hand, but this time Harry held it firm. His hand squeezed tightly around the blonde's as their eyes locked.

"Draco," he whispered, so softly he wasn't sure if he had actually said anything at all. He didn't know why he said it exactly. But having Draco here, so close to him, had his mind in a fuzzy haze. Draco's cologne tickled his nose every time he breathed, and the heat of his breath as it pooled against Harry's lips was like a glorious fire.

"Don't, Harry," Draco hissed, as all the vigor in his grey eyes shattered into ruin. He forced Harry's hand up and quickly locked it in the manacle, before retreating back to Ginny's side.

Harry very nearly laughed. What had he expected really? That Draco would rescue him somehow? _I must be delusional_, Harry shook his head, _He's had plenty of opportunities. If he wanted to save me, he would've done it already. _ The Gryffindor felt a sudden sharp pang clench his heart. _ But…he still loves me. He must. It couldn't have been about the wand all along. Surely he hadn't belonged to her the whole time. Surely, not the whole time…_

Suddenly the manacles jerked up, and Harry yelped in pain as his arms were pulled taut. He blinked through his spotted vision to see Ginny sneering at him.

"Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention," she said, moving toward him like a cat that just got the cream. "There we are," she pressed the tip of her wand into his throat, "your light is back now."

Harry sneered, "Glad I can make this more enjoyable for you."

"Oh yes, I've been waiting for this moment for years."

"Sounds to me like you need a hobby."

Ginny snarled unattractively and pressed the wand harder into his neck. "You will watch your tongue around me, boy."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Harry managed a defiant grin.

"_Crucio_!"

Pain exploded in Harry's body, ripping him clean through. Teeth like needles tore at his skin, while knives of ice were plunged into his stomach again and again and again. His ears erupted with the sounds of his own screams, and he tasted blood as he tried to bite back the sound. Every part of his body was alive with agony—every nerve in his body exploding with a white hot pain that scorched through him, leaving nothing untouched.

"_Finite Incantatum_."

Harry's body sagged and shuddered as he felt the curse leave him. Cool air filled his lungs once more, and it felt fresh as water on an open wound.

Ginny's laugh sounded muted to his still ringing ears, "I think you'll find, Harry, that I know punishments much worse than death."

Harry coughed and blood poured, hot and wet, over his lips. He lapped it up with his tongue, smiling wryly, "And I'll bet most of them involve enduring your company, hm?"

Ginny's face contorted with rage. Wide eyed and red cheeked, she whirled on Draco, "Curse him!"

Harry's humor fell with the silence.

The Slytherin stared blankly down at the redhead, his mouth opening and closing several times before he finally spoke, "You—I don't understand."

"Curse him," Ginny said with a curdling sneer, "Use the same spell he used on you two years ago—I've seen it so many times in your dreams. Go on! Show him what it was like to endure what you endured! Now, do as I command!"

"He won't," the words spilled over Harry's lips before he could stop them. Ginny and Draco both turned to look at him, and Harry couldn't help but shrink back slightly.

"You still don't understand anything do you," Ginny's voice shook with her rage, "He belongs _to me_!"

Harry shook his head weakly, "He doesn't. He—" but he was cut off by the sound of rustling fabric. By the time he moved his gaze back to Draco, his wand was already drawn. Harry felt his stomach drop in terror. "Draco, you don't have to do this," he whispered fervently, "You're not like your father. Please, you don't have to do this."

But there was nothing left in Draco to plead with anymore. All his hesitation was gone—he stood cold and stiff, like a carving of ice, somehow both beautiful and terrifying at the same time. The grey eyes that looked at him now, were dead. "I do have to, Potter. My master commands it." He raised his wand to Harry's chest, "_Sectumsempra_!"

Blades, sharp and unforgiving, tore at him, shredding through his skin like paper. He felt a sudden hot rush bloom through his body as blood spilled over his wounds. If the manacles had not been holding him up, he would've fallen to his knees. The spell cut through him slowly, making sure that he felt as each layer of skin, tissue, and muscle was sliced clean through. He couldn't hold back the scream that tore through his throat—it came from somewhere deeper than the pain from the curse that ripped him apart now. It was the fact that he could _feel_ Draco in it—he could feel Draco's magic curling around his heart and encasing it in the purest form of agony. Harry could feel his anger, and his hate, and his malice, and it all came out in a scream.

And then it all stopped, and the world rushed back in a black whirl. Everything around him seemed fogged now, and even as he blinked his vision wouldn't focus.

Ginny was standing close again—he could tell from the rancid smell that filled his nose. She was clucking her tongue disdainfully, her anger apparently dissipated. "You think I'd waste my time on someone who'd so lightly betray me? Or did you not believe me when I said that Draco has _always_ been mine? I've been planning my revenge on you for years, Harry. Years. This wand," she twirled the Elder Wand idly between her fingers, "was just a happy little bonus. Though it did make things more…entertaining.

"Hermione really is a clever little witch you know. I knew many things thanks to Ginny—that the wand did in fact exist, that it obeyed you, and that you had hidden it somewhere. But, Hermione…well, she made it damn near impossible to find. Mudblood though she may be, it was a rather brilliant set up. Not only did she set up wards on the wand itself, but she made its location uncharitable. Neither you, nor Ron, nor Hermione could disclose where it was hidden to anyone who didn't already know where it was—not even after drinking Veritaserum…not even under the Imperius Curse." Her eyes flickered strangely in the dim light, "And on top of it all, it could only be taken if it was needed, but more so than that," Ginny looked at Draco then, and smiled a smile that made Harry's blood run cold, "it could only be taken with your permission, Harry—and only by someone you trusted."

The redhead sauntered over to the blonde, raising her arm and draping it around his shoulders. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck, nuzzling the pale skin with her nose while Draco stood stiff. "How perfect then it was—how poetic—that Draco should do it rather than me." The room around him seemed to list in misted fog of broken reality. "It was a wonderful challenge, and Draco wanted to save his father so badly. He was a wonderful actor wasn't he?" Ginny pressed a wet kiss into the Slytherin's throat, and Harry felt a wave of bile surge up his throat, "Once I showed him who I truly was, we devised a perfect plan. He would go to you on the train, and reoffer what you had denied him so long ago. We knew you would accept, being the incorrigible little Gryffindor that you are. And while he drew you in, I remained in the background, securing my hold over your friends—though they were so lost already it was almost a joke pulling them into the dark. I did have quite a row testing you though, and making sure you trusted Draco fully and completely. Believe me, orchestrating all those fights between you and Ron was no small feat."

Harry shook his head as the room spun around him. Vaguely he noticed a crimson pool widening around his feet. He could see the melded form of Ginny and Draco's shadows reflected in it. "So," he croaked, "Lucius was in on the whole thing as well. It wasn't enough to make me trust him…you had to throw in a love spell."

"I needed a reason for you to need the wand." Ginny grinned, her white teeth gleaming like fangs, "Plus, it was fun, watching you fall. It was a powerful thing, was it not?"

"But how did Lucius—"

Ginny's cold, high-pitched laugh broke him off. It echoed and bounced off the walls like a ringing bell. She peeled herself from Draco's side and walked over to Harry. Her hands cupped his cheeks and Harry's whole body seized in reaction to the touch. Then her head dipped forward and her lips brushed ever so lightly against his own. When she pulled back, her mouth was red with blood. "Oh, Harry, Lucius had nothing to do with that spell."

Harry felt his breath hitch. _The spell has been rumored to be able to be cast through acts of intimacy_. "You…when you kissed me that night at the Burrow…"

Ginny nodded, licking the blood off her lips as she lowered her hands back down to her sides.

Harry looked over at the blonde, as a indiscernible feeling flew, wild and hot, through his veins, "Draco…did you know? Tell me you didn't know."

A hard moment of silence hung between them. "Of course I knew, Potter," he said finally, resentment etched in his voice.

For the first time, Harry felt an unbridled fury rise within him and he couldn't hold it back. He jerked against his restraints. "Why!" his scream tore through his throat, "You really knew everything—_everything_—the whole time!"

"I did it to save my father!" Draco screamed back, his anger finally taking over his control.

"Well guess what? He's _dead_! You didn't save him! He's DEAD! So why are you still with her!"

For some reason, in that one moment, Harry's vision sharpened. He could see the heady red flush that blotched the blonde's cheeks, and the muscles in his jaw tense as he clenched his teeth. He could see the sudden glisten of tears that misted his grey eyes, making the irises look like molten silver caught in the sun. He could see the way Draco's whole body seemed to curl in on itself, repulsed and broken, and the way his knees shook ever so slightly as if they were about to give way at any moment.

Harry saw all of this, and didn't care. His head felt light and dizzy from the blood loss, but his heart felt like it was about to pound its way straight through his chest. There truly was nothing left for him now. Everything had been destroyed. No, not destroyed—it had never even existed in the first place.

Ginny glanced between the two, her face alight with an amused malice. She gave a soft hum of contentment, and raised a finger to trace the curve of Harry's cheek, "There it is…that's what I wanted to see." When she stepped back, Harry felt every ounce of heat leave him. "Draco, get him cleaned up and bring him upstairs." Ginny turned and swept back to the cell gate, turning around the corner and yelling back, "I can't have him die before I decide to kill him."

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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Harry's so tortured :( And I know some of you may be disappointed in Draco at this point, but uh...he is a Slytherin, and a Malfoy on top of that soooo you can't really say it's out of character XD But we'll see how he deals with poor injured Harry in the next chapter...

**Reviewing may save Harry's life!**


	28. What We Have Become

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for dramatic sequences and violence

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: Hey all! First off, before I forget, **Sariel-Thage** (aka the coolest person ever) did a fanart for Obsessions! You can find it here: http :/ sariel-thage. deviantart. com / # / d3itbms (just take out the spaces!) If that doesn't work you can just go to sariel-thage. deviantart. com and check out all the other amazing art there as well!

Also...I'm sorry to those of you I didn't reply to for reviews! I was getting this "Invalid Message 3" error which apparently meant that ffn couldn't find the message I was trying to reply to *sobs* So I'm sorry! Forgive me?

This chapter is a bit on the short side...but I'll make it up to everyone! Don't you worry!

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_All the tears_

_We never thought we'd see the day when_

_The trappings of your life would seem to disappear_

_Going through the vacancy you leave behind_

_Not what you have promised_

_Not what you believed_

-Daughtry

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

The moment Ginny rounded the corner out of the cell, Draco rushed to him, wand ready and healing words already spilling over his lips. Harry felt strong arms grip him and hold him up as the chains that bound him disappeared. A soothing blue light filled the room, and Harry felt the pain in his limbs slip away into nothingness. But the black remained. And Draco was still holding him—warm and solid and pressed against him so tightly Harry thought he might suffocate.

"Harry," Draco hissed in his ear, "you stupid stubborn bastard."

Harry felt his knees give, and together they slid down to the floor. The stone was slick and wet with blood, and Harry could feel the fabric of his jeans moistening with it. All of this seemed to be happening so far away, like he was disconnected from it somehow. He knew he didn't want Draco touching him, but he couldn't seem to move and his tongue was stuck dryly to the roof of his mouth—the darkness had already settled in too deep. He'd lost too much blood, and the world had dissolved into nothing more than a faint blur of black and grey.

The blonde's breath was hot, like the sun against his cheek, "What were you thinking, provoking her like that?"

Even as Draco spoke, his wand traveled across Harry's body, magic soothing his flesh and blood. Harry could feel it pulling him from the safe surrounding dark. Already the world was becoming clearer. He could feel the smooth fabric of Draco's robes under his hands.

He fisted the material there, and felt Draco stiffen, "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop healing me," Harry tried to push him away, but the blonde was still too strong for him.

"I can't," Draco's heartbeat was like a drum against Harry's chest, "I have my orders."

"Your orders," Harry spat, pushing back harder, "You make me sick."

Suddenly Harry was thrown back. His head slammed against the stone with a painful crack, and he snarled as he felt Draco pin him. The blonde hovered over him, his face close and every inch of him seething with anger. "How dare you, Potter! How dare you! You don't know _anything_ about it!"

"Don't know anything about it?" Harry yelled, even though it made his vision spin, "What, so I just imagined what just happened? How you just stood there and watched me get tortured? How you _helped_! Merlin, and you two were in on it this whole fucking time! Ron and Hermione were right and I was too stupid to see!"

"What the hell were you expecting?" Draco flared, "Or did you not notice that when she cut herself, I was cut too? I am _bound_ to her, Potter! If something happens to her, it happens to me too!" The Slytherin's fingers dug painfully into his skin, and his eyes were like two pools reflecting a burning sky, "I tried to save you!"

Harry's scoff was laced with contempt, "And yet here I sit, quite unsaved. Some attempt."

"It's not my fault you were too stupid to smell the shit right beneath your nose! How do you think you saw my dreams? I've been trying to show you since the beginning!"

"Funny! A normal person would've just _said_ something!"

"It was my father's life or yours!"

"And you chose your father! I GET IT!" Harry screamed so forcefully his vision went black for a lingering moment before finally fading back to normal again. He let his hands fall limply to his sides, too sickened by the mere thought of touching the other boy to put up any pretense of a fight. The chasm in his heart was deep, and black, and hollow—he remembered this feeling. It was like the very floor was about to crumble beneath him and swallow him whole.

Draco's grip on him loosened, and with a shuddering breath he leaned back. Harry looked away, but he could still feel the blonde's stare prickling at the side of his face. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost tender, "I never thought her plan would work. I thought—I thought you hated me too much. And I thought I hated you too much. Every time I saw you, I thought, 'today will be the day…today will be the day he'll realize who I am, and the horrible mistake he's making. And then she won't need me anymore, and everything will be okay'. But you never did. And, Merlin help me, a part of me wanted…" he trailed off. The blonde was still sitting on Harry's legs, and the Gryffindor could feel him shaking.

Harry bit his lip, hard, forcing himself to focus on the pain instead of his want to look at the other boy. The Gryffindor hissed at his own stupidity. "Wanted what?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"A part of me wanted it to never stop," Draco said it all in one breath, as if it was something he'd been holding in for so long that once one part came, everything else had to come with it. "I don't know when, but somewhere along the way it became real for me. I saw it happening and I tried to stop it because I _knew_ what would happen. But I couldn't. I knew I would have to destroy you, but I wanted you anyway. Harry, I didn't know how dead I was before you. I—"

"Stop it," Harry interrupted sharply, "Just, stop it." He couldn't take it anymore—these fleeting glimmers of hope that were bubbling in his stomach. "Why should I believe you anyway?"

"Because I love you," Draco replied, without skipping a beat.

Harry's gaze was on him in an instant, wild with an untamed fury. His hands balled into fists at his sides as rage swept through his veins and made his nerves crackle. "Then why did you let all of this happen?" Harry asked with an unearthly dead calm.

Draco held Harry's angry gaze with his own, just like he always had. "I had no choice. I had to—"

"You had to save yourself is what you had to do!" Harry seethed, "Well looks like you've succeeded. Congratulations on your new position of slavery, I hope it makes you happy. Now. Get. Off. Me."

The blonde's jaw was tense. He leaned forward but Harry's hands came up to stop him, pushing back with all his might. It was like pressing against a brick wall. "Harry, listen to me, there's a—" his head suddenly whipped to the side, his eyes darting in thought. "She's calling." Draco hoisted himself up to his feet, pulling Harry up with him.

Somewhere along the way, Harry's legs gave way. Draco caught him by the waist, steadying him against his body. "Don't," Harry growled, pushing the blonde away. He fell heavily into the stone wall, and it felt unnaturally cold and hard as if it were purposefully mocking him for leaving the comfort of Draco's arms. But he didn't care, "If I'm going to walk to my death, I'm going to walk there by myself."

He took a step forward and stumbled, but Draco was right there to catch him again. "Don't be ridiculous," the blonde said, grabbing Harry's right arm and pulling it around his neck, "We don't have much time." Without another word, Draco began walking, not much caring whether or not Harry wanted to follow.

Grimacing, Harry trudged along as best he could, wishing he could ignore the way Draco's hand felt against the skin on his waist. This was really happening. Draco was taking him to Ginny, and she was going to kill him. He was too weak to walk, much less fight, and he was without a wand. But how? How could it all end this way?

And it was worse, with Draco at his side—being the one to carry him there like some sacrificial lamb. To be so close to him, knowing the way his hair smelled after flying through the clouds, knowing the way his lips curved when he smiled, knowing the way it felt to have that body so perfectly melded into his like they were two parts created to make one whole, and knowing…that he would never feel those things again. It was torture, because he hated himself for thinking of _those_ things, and not what he should be thinking. What he should be thinking was how all those years at Hogwarts, he'd been right. He should be thinking about how Draco's touch made him sick, and how he wished he would've never shook his thin pale hand that day on the train. But he wasn't. He couldn't.

The main hallway through dungeons was long and dark, and smelled faintly of rotted flesh mixed with the coppery tang of blood. For some reason Harry found himself fixated on how his shadow shrank with each candle they passed, only to stretch back out a couple steps later. _Our shadows are trying to get away from us_, Harry thought benignly. It was a stupid thought, but he thought it nevertheless.

Suddenly, Draco's arm tightened around his waste. Harry glanced up at him and saw a dark ferocity gleaming in his eyes. "We don't have much time," he whispered, "so you need to listen to me and try your best not to be a stubborn Gryffindor about it."

Harry felt Draco's hand slide down, pushing something into his jeans pocket. Harry's brow furrowed, "What are—"

"When the time comes—and you'll have no doubt when that is—read my instructions and follow them exactly. _Exactly_. Do you understand?"

"What are you talking about? What—"

In one graceful motion, the Slytherin unhooked Harry's arm from around his neck, grabbed Harry's other wrist and bound his hands behind his back. Harry stumbled, but Draco held him steady. Hot breath tickled Harry's ear, sending unwanted jolts down his spine, "I didn't ask you to ask me any questions, I asked if you understood." They were nearing the stairs now—Harry could see the door, tall and looming and too close. Draco's grip tightened, and Harry felt a shock of pain radiate through his shoulders as they mounted the first step, "Do you?"

"Yes!" Harry breathed.

The door opened for them not moments later, and Harry held his breath as he saw George's pale freckled face on the other side. He looked almost unrecognizable without his signature smile stretching his mouth. The redhead stood aside as Harry and Draco passed through. George's name bubbled up Harry's throat, and his tongue ached to call out to him, but one look at those misted blue eyes silenced him.

Draco kept him moving forward, and together they made their way through the deserted maze of Malfoy Manor. Minutes passed coupled with a harsh silence—the kind that made Harry's ears ring that eerie high pitch that could only be heard when there was nothing else to hear. Idly, he wondered what Draco was thinking, and he wondered what the blonde had put in his pocket. Instructions, he had said. About what? How to sneer and exchange witty repartee before you die?

With a firm pull, the blonde reined Harry to a stop. They stood before a rather ordinary looking black door. "What," Harry drawled mockingly, "I don't even get to die in a special room? This seems a rather rudimentary place to kill the savior of the wizarding world doesn't it?"

"Stop trying to sound like me," Draco seethed, reaching past him to open the door and pushing Harry through, "trust me, you're not good at it."

The room they entered was large and round, with a high domed ceiling tapered with dark wooden arches. There was no furniture in the room, just two long red rugs that crossed in the middle. That was were Ginny stood, her silhouette trimmed with the soft light of the moon that shone through the lone bay window. She stood very still, and her eyes were closed, like she was sleeping. And in that moment she almost looked peaceful. Her short hair hung down like soft black fringe over her smooth forehead, and her face seemed just as he always remembered it, beautiful and gentle.

"Hello boys," her eyes snapped open, and Harry gasped—it was like someone striking a nail into his skull, "I was beginning to wonder where you were." With a small flick of her wand, Harry felt chains wrap around his wrists and ankles. Draco stepped back and, unable to keep balanced by himself, Harry fell to the ground with a muffled thump.

Ginny cackled, and with another wave of her wand, Harry felt invisible tethers dragging him across the floor. Stone scraped against his face and ripped at the skin on his cheek before the tethers finally hauled him back up. "Oh, Harry," Ginny stepped towards him deliberately, and suddenly Harry was slammed back against the wall, "you can't imagine how much I've been looking forward to this."

Fighting the stars dancing across his vision, Harry spat out a mouthful of blood, "Go fuck yourself."

Ginny shook her head, her mouth stretched in a coquettish grin, "No, I think that will be Draco's job." She turned to the blonde, "By the way, Draco, are you staying for the fun?"

Draco smirked, "A Malfoy never misses an opportunity for front row seats to blood and violence. I'm pretty sure it's written in our handbook somewhere."

Ginny wrinkled her nose and frowned, "You have a very odd sense of humor."

"And you have a very odd haircut, for a girl I mean," Draco replied, crossing the room and looking every bit the arrogant Slytherin prat he'd been at fifteen. Harry frowned. What was he up to?

Ginny bristled as he neared, "I am _not_ a girl."

"Well if that's the look you're going for, you've hit it spot on."

"Be quiet and go stand over there!" Ginny gestured irately, and with a cool smile, Draco went to stand behind her. His smile fell however, as soon as Ginny raised her wand, "Any last words, Harry Potter?"

Harry's bindings gave a sudden jerk as they broke apart and melded themselves into the wall. Slowly his limbs were stretched so that he was suspended several feet above the ground, his legs in a V, and his arms pulled so tight above his head that he was sure his shoulders would dislocate at any moment. Everything seemed to slow then. He could feel hot blood slithering down his cheek to dip down along his neck. He could taste the dry grime from the cell on his tongue. He could smell the sharp electric bite of live magic crackling through the air. And he could see a pair of grey eyes, staring back at him, and they were like home. And he was safe, somewhere far away from here, wrapped in Draco's arms so tightly that he couldn't quite breathe but he didn't care. They were together, somewhere in a house that was their own. It all seemed to happen before him—his entire life incased in a final moment. Years passed like moments within moments, and he and Draco grew, and as they grew they only became more intertwined. There were fights and anger, and passion and love, and Harry could feel all of it, so very real and aching inside him like venom being sucked from a wound. Pictures filled the walls as the twilight of their lives dawned, and their faces had long lost the youthful glow of beauty, but love still gleamed in their eyes and it was all that mattered. Harry saw it all, like it could've been his. And it was ok that it all had been a lie…because it had been real to him.

It was ok, that he would die.

Because he still loved Draco.

Harry breathed in, knowing it would probably be the last breath he ever took, "Draco, I love—"

But Ginny's voice rang above him, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

**Man...I guess this means there weren't enough donations to the Save Harry's Life Fund. Things are looking pretty grim...but maybe there's still time to save our poor hero! Review today! :)**

P.S. Next chapter = CLIMAX! (get excited)


	29. Bound to Me, Bound to You

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for dramatic sequences and violence

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: Sooooo I decided to post this a day early because, well, everyone was so nice in their reviews on the last chapter that I guess I wanted to do something nice back! I appologize in advance for any discrepancies between this chapter and canon. I hope everyone enjoys the climax!

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Prison gates won't open up for me_

_On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'_

_Oh, I reach for you_

_Well I'm terrified of these four walls_

_These iron bars can hold my soul in_

_All I need is you_

_Come please, I'm callin'_

_And oh I scream for you_

_Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'_

-Nickelback

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

And just as Ginny's mouth opened to scream the unforgivable, Harry heard Draco's voice as well. Ginny's curse hurtled towards him, bright and green like a warped bolt of lightning. Then there was a blinding flash of white light. Harry cried out, pressing his eyes shut and turning his head to the side. There was a loud explosion just over his left shoulder, and suddenly he was falling. He hit the ground hard, his knees crashing painfully into the unforgiving stone.

Then, everything was silent.

Harry opened his eyes, his breath coming in shallow ragged pants. Dust plumed all around him like a dense fog. Was he…alive? He blinked several times and looked back over his shoulder. Just above where he'd been bound, there was a jagged circle of cracked stone. The spell had missed? But then…had Draco saved him? Had Draco…

With a sudden gasp of realization, Harry leapt to his feet. Where were Ginny and Draco? But he couldn't see through the dust—it was too thick. It was sheer will and adrenaline that had his legs running across the room.

And then he saw them, and his heart slammed to a stop.

Ginny and Draco's bodies lay lumped on the ground, as still as death. Their mouths hung open, and faintly, Harry could see a tiny ball of pale light rising from each of their lips.

"No," Harry breathed, rushing to Draco's side and falling to his knees. Hot tears blurred his vision as he stared down at the blonde's lifeless body, and at the grey eyes that saw nothing. Harry's hands trembled violently, hovering just over the surface of Draco's robes, "Draco…no. What have you done?" He'd only seen a soul once, when he was thirteen years old, but he had never been able to forget it. They looked so fragile, like a flickering light ready to go out—so fragile and yet, at the same time, so devastatingly beautiful.

The moon shone weakly through the window, it's cold muted glow only serving to make the light of Draco's soul seem all the more delicate. Slowly, Harry raised his hand to it. He could feel heat coming from it, like a small flame. And he could feel Draco in it too, somehow. It was the same feeling he got when he knew someone was standing just behind him, but he wasn't able to turn to look. Without thinking, Harry pushed his hand farther forward.

Harry's fingers just barely graced the surface of the small light when all of a sudden his stomach lurched and he was hurtled forward. His feet hit hard ground before he even knew he was falling. Surprisingly enough, though, his legs held firm. In fact, he felt fine. Harry blinked, and straightened looking around confusedly. He certainly wasn't in that round room anymore, but where was he? He was standing in a long barren hall, lit only by the pallid light that streamed down through the windows. But the light seemed strange…unnatural—it had a certain thick quality to it, like a still mist. Then, his eyes caught hold of something, a flash of silver in the dim distance. There was a figure standing at the far end of the room, holding on to the handles of the tall double oaken doors that consumed end of the hall. "Draco?"

The blonde turned, and their eyes locked. One of his pale hands remained tightly wrapped around the door-handle, "Harry," the blonde drawled with a frown, "why is it that I'm not surprised to see you?"

The Gryffindor began walking towards the other boy, "Where are we? What's going on?"

The sound of Draco's laugh echoed down the hall, "You really are hopeless, you know that?"

"Draco…" Harry continued forward, more slowly now.

Draco's expression flashed down into a sudden snarl, "Did I or did I not tell you to follow my instructions?"

They were only ten feet from each other now, and Harry's nerves were quivering with something foul in the air. He couldn't feel anything, not the heat of the summer night air, or the feel of his own feet pressed against the stone floor. "Are we…" he couldn't help the slight tremor in his voice, "are we inside your soul?"

Draco laughed once more, but there was something brittle in it this time, "There's no pulling the wool over your eyes is there, Potter. Now if we're done playing twenty questions, you really should be leaving."

Harry chanced another step forward. His mind was whirling, "What did you do?"

The air took on a sudden electric charge as Draco's face creased with anger, "None of that matters now! You need to get out of here!"

"Not without you! I'm not—"

"I will not allow your stubbornness to make my sacrifice mean nothing!" the Slytherin yelled, his whole body shaking and the crests of his cheeks flooding with a deep red. The entire world seemed to tremble around them, blurring suddenly before jerking back into focus.

Harry staggered back. "Sacrifice?" He stared at the blonde, and the silence around him seemed to press in. Then something seemed to click in his mind, "You—you killed yourself to save me?"

"Get. Out."

"I'm not going anywhere without you!"

"I'm not leaving!"

Harry was floored. But the other boy looked resolute. "Why not?" he asked, knowing already that he didn't want to know the answer.

"Because Tom and I aren't bound by our bodies, like the two of you were bound in your Unbreakable Vow, we are bound by our _souls_! If I come back then Ginny comes back, and Tom will come right along with her!"

"No. No, no, no! I'm not going to leave you here!" Harry moved forward again.

"You don't have a choice," Draco seethed, recoiling back against the door, his hand still gripped tightly around the doorknob, "If you want to save Ginny, you have to leave! Now!"

"Save Ginny? But how—"

"Tom has her, but you can kill him once and for all. You can bring her back!"

Harry's brow furrowed, "And what about you? What? You're going to give up your life to save hers and mine? I can't have that kind of blood on my hands, Draco!"

"You already will!" the other boy replied with equal vehemence, "There isn't enough time to save us both! She is dying right now, while you're sitting here wasting your breath prattling on with me! So it's either her blood or mine, and I'm _not_ coming with you!"

"Draco," Harry closed the final distance between them, "I can't leave you here…you saved me and I can't just…" his words fell off in a broken sigh. He raised his hands, wanting to pull the blonde to him, but something held him back—he didn't want to touch Draco not knowing whether or not he would be able to feel him in his hands. "I love you," he whispered.

Those grey eyes seemed so close now, and they were brighter than he'd ever seen them, like he'd been seeing a sun through clouds all this time, and now the clouds had been swept away and the star was blazing with all its uncontained fury. "You would never have loved me if I hadn't come to you that day on the train, and I would never have come to you if it were not for her. You don't love me, Harry…you love something that was never even supposed to exist." His voice grew soft, and distant, "I've made my choices, knowingly and willingly, and don't you dare think I haven't. I've lied, and manipulated, and cheated, and killed—I can't allow you to take away the one good thing I've done."

Anguish pressed on Harry's chest like a weight. "Draco," his eyes flickered up, then back down again, "…what's behind those doors?"

Draco turned to look up at them thoughtfully, the ghost of a smile curling on the edges of his lips. "My father," he said, turning back to Harry once more, "he's calling me."

Tears spilled over Harry's cheeks before he'd even realized they'd formed, "Draco…please…"

The blonde hushed him, raising his free hand to cup Harry's cheek. But Harry couldn't feel the touch—the only thing he could feel was a light prickling, like static electricity. "Close your eyes, Harry." Harry did. "You're not really here. You're sitting beside me. You can feel the ground beneath your legs."

There was a sudden jerk in Harry's chest. In a panic, he tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't, "No! Draco!"

"You can feel the fabric of your clothes against your skin."

There was another jerk, sharper this time.

"You can feel that your eyes are closed," Draco's voice was nothing more than a distant whisper, "Now, open them."

Harry's eyes flew open. Air rushed into his lungs as his vision spun, like he'd been holding his breath for too long. A heavy pain pulled at his shoulders and crushed in on his chest. He felt weak, and slow, but in a very different way from before, like the blood in his veins was thick like lead and weighing him down. Barely coherent enough to acknowledge the reality around him, Harry reached into his pocket, digging out the parchment that Draco had left there. He opened in a fury, trying to keep his hands steady enough to read the words written there.

Harry's brows came together as his eyes dragged across the paper—he'd seen this before. It was a page torn out of a book, with some of Draco's clean-cut writing lining the margins. The heading of the page read, "The Dementor's Peck." This was the same spell Draco had mentioned that day in the Library—the one that could remove a soul from a body, and for all intents and purposes…kill it. Harry's pulse quickened. Draco had told him that he and Ginny were bound—that if Ginny were to be cursed, he would be cursed as well. So that meant, when Draco had shot this spell at Ginny, he had known that it would kill them both.

Hot tears welled in his eyes. But no! He had to remain calm. He had to read what Draco had written.

_Harry, if you're reading this it means I'm dead…or at least very close to dying. Morbid I know, but no time for jokes. You must follow my instructions quickly. You don't have much time._

_All right,_ Harry thought, _one step at a time. Stay calm. One step at a time._

_Firstly, take my wand._

Harry reached over, trying not to think about how Draco's skin was paler than normal as he grabbed the wand from his limp left hand.

_Secondly, there should be a small knife in my breast pocket. Take that as well._

Biting his lip, Harry reached into the blonde's pocket. He had to close his eyes, unable to handle that blank grey gaze without feeling a lurch of nausea twist his stomach. The tip of a blade slide across his fingers, and gingerly he pulled the knife from its holding.

_Thirdly, you must check to see if Ginny still has the Elder Wand._

With a shaky breath, Harry crawled over to the redhead, not realizing until now how much his muscles ached. Her midnight eyes were glazed with the same blank dead fog, and her mouth was lit with the soft glow of the soul that floated just above her lips. Swallowing against the bile that surged up his throat, Harry turned his eyes to her wand hand. But there was nothing there. Heart leaping, Harry surged forward, grabbing Ginny's hand and turning it over. Her fingers and palm were blackened with ash.

Harry looked around, thinking that it maybe she had dropped it when she'd fallen. It couldn't have gotten far. But he didn't see it anywhere.

Mind whirling, Harry read on.

_If it's not there, don't panic._

Harry snarled, _Okay, screw this one step at a time bullshit._

_If it's not there, there's a good chance it's been destroyed. Don't be an idiot and think I'm going to explain why, there's no time for that. Now pay attention, Potter! You can't screw this next part up—no amount of stupid Gryffindor luck is going to save you if you blow this._

_Now, the spell will have been enough to broken your vow with Ginny, but it will not have broken her bond with me or her bond with Tom. You're going to have to touch Ginny's soul, and when you do it's going to take you somewhere. I have no clue where, but where ever it is, Tom will be there waiting for you. You will not be able to use magic there, do you understand? A soul is the main source of our magic, and in there, there will be no vessel to channel it through. If you hold my knife when you touch her soul, it should stay with you when you go in. Take my knife in with you, and kill him. Don't hesitate, Potter, no matter what your self-righteous little conscience tells you. If you kill him, Ginny's soul will be set free._

_All you have to do to come back is think about where you are. Remember how the ground feels beneath you, and how the knife fits in your hand etcetera, and you'll come back. The trip may weaken you, but you should be fine to perform the spell to bring her back._

_Corpuscorporis Reverto._

_That's the spell. Call her with your magic, and she'll find you. Know that you will not have time to save both of us. Trust me…save her._

_I love you, Harry._

And that was all there was. Harry turned the parchment over and back again, but there was nothing else.

Harry looked down at Ginny's body, then at Draco's, and back again. He knew he could use this spell to bring the blonde back. With just a wave of his wand and a few words, he would be able to see Draco's eyes light up again. But then, Ginny would come back too. And then, he would be right back where he'd started. Sure he would have the upper hand because he had a wand, but she would still be possessed. Even if he didn't love her any more, did that really give him any right to choose Draco over her? Draco had known what he was doing when he'd cast the spell—he'd known the consequences. Ginny hadn't…and she was trapped somewhere deep in the darkness, waiting for him to save her like he always did. Like he always would. He had no other choice. His heart felt like a sinking weight as he gripped the knife tightly in his right hand, and gently set the Slytherin's wand down at his side. He didn't care what the note had said—he would get back in time to save Draco. He had to.

With one last determined breath, Harry reached out and touched Ginny's soul.

The lurch in his stomach was different than before, harder. He was pitched down, falling into a great pit of blackness, until suddenly the ground leapt up at him. His feet hit with a strange metal clang. Blinking, Harry crossed his arms and looked around, trying to pay more attention to the familiar surroundings than the fact that he couldn't feel his own hand against his skin. He could, however, feel the knife still in his hand, and that at least was reassuring.

The silence that surrounded him was broken only by the tinkling sound of water droplets falling into the scattered puddles that surrounded him. As it happened, he was standing in a very large pipe—a pipe that he happened to have stood in once before. He remembered it well, though he hadn't seen it since he was a small boy: The Chamber of Secrets.

A high-pitched scream shattered the stillness like glass.

In an instant, Harry was running, his feet flying across the ground faster than he'd ever remembered. He flung himself around the one corner that stood between him and the last hall that led into the chamber. The stone snakes stared down at him with sharp eyes as he ran past, Draco's knife clutched tightly in his fist.

Then he saw them, at the end of the corridor, right in the center of the great open room. Harry slowed to a walk. Ginny's body lay flat on the ground, her limbs stretched out and held to the floor with heavy metal chains. She was paler than death. And there was Tom, with his back to Harry, hunched over Ginny's body as if to protect it from something Harry couldn't see. At that moment though, he turned, and his eyes locked with Harry's.

Harry knew that Tom's face was one he would never forget. The handsome pale skin pulled tight over high cheekbones, the jet-black hair, and the dark eyes that seemed to pull at the very fabric of Harry's soul. They flashed red for but an instant before fading back, and Harry felt a small twist in his stomach—his body's response to a pain he knew he should feel.

"What have you done?" Tom's voice shook with anger. The Slytherin Heir made to stand, but faltered somewhat. That only seemed to make him angrier.

Harry was still moving forward. He knew he should be afraid, but for some reason he wasn't.

Tom raised his wand—the Elder Wand—pointing it straight at Harry's chest. "Tell me why we are here!" Tom yelled, his face growing even paler in his rage, "Answer me!"

"You can't order me around anymore. Our bond has been broken." An emotion, black and angry, slithered through him then, "This is where you should've died, Tom," Harry could feel the knife like a weight in his hand, "This time, I'm going to make sure I finish the job."

"I killed you!"

Harry sneered, "You missed."

"But, how…I—" Tom's eyes flickered in realization, "Draco. That gormless little rodent—he did this." His voice had dropped to a threatening low whisper, and Harry almost wished he was yelling again. His dark brows were pulled together, and Harry was close enough to see the vein that throbbed in his forehead. Tom's grip on his wand tightened, "You're going to take me out of here."

Glaring, Harry stopped. The Elder Wand was barely an arm's length away now, and his eyes dropped down to it briefly before returning to the cold dark stare. "Let Ginny go."

"I'll kill you, boy!"

"Let Ginny go!" Harry growled, "I'm not going to ask you again!"

Then something in Tom seemed to snap—Harry saw it in his face—his manic rage breaking past his control like water boiling over. The chamber began to tremble, the metal pipes around them ringing like great bells as Tom's knuckles went white. "Never." Tom's snarl sent a sharp thrill of panic racing down Harry's spine, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Nothing happened. The world went suddenly still.

Tom blinked, his expression falling in blank shock. "What is this?" he asked, looking horrified, "Have you turned me into a muggle?"

"You would think that." In a sudden charge, Harry's hand whipped forward, ripping the Elder Wand from Tom's hand with a seekers grace and speed. "This wand won't work for you anymore." He threw it to the side and Tom's eyes followed, watching as it disintegrated into a whirling cloud of ash, lingering as it drifted to the ground with barely a whispering sound. "The wand must always have a master."

The Slytherin heir fell to his knees, his gaze still locked on what had once been the most powerful weapon in all the world. For a moment he almost looked like he was just a sixteen-year-old boy, pure and unmarred by the scars of his future. "This is soul magic," his whisper was like a haunting chill that made the hackles on Harry's neck rise, "He took my soul, thus killing me and making himself the master of the wand, but in killing me, he killed himself and left the wand without a master…the stupid fool." Tom looked over at Harry then, and seemed to notice the knife for the first time. A small sort of smile stretched his thin lips, "You mean to kill me the barbaric way then?"

Harry nodded, his shoulders set and tense.

Tom quirked a brow, "My my, would that make me your first?" With a mocking smirk, Tom leaned his head to the side, bearing his white throat so that it was plainly open for Harry to see, "Oh I can see that you're longing for it. You want to see what it feels like. I've done a lot of things to hurt you, haven't I, Harry?"

"I have somewhere I need to be." He could tell Tom was trying to lure him into something. So why was he hesitating?

"Oh," Tom nodded knowingly, "that's right. Draco's out there dying while you're in here with me. So why don't you get it over and done with then? It would be so easy," he purred, his eyes flashing with ardently, "plunging that dagger into my neck and feeling my blood washing over your hands. Don't you want to know what it feels like, Harry?"

Harry stood silent, the knife clutched tightly in his trembling hand. Why couldn't he move? Those dark eyes imprisoned him there, holding him in some sort of trance. While Tom's tongue hissed and tempted him with blood, his eyes mocked him, knowing that he wouldn't take the bait.

"Don't you want to know?"

_Why_ couldn't he move?

"You're scared aren't you." Tom made it obvious that it was a statement rather than a question.

"I'm not," Harry insisted through gritted teeth.

"You know," the dark haired boy heckled, "you'll kill him too, if you kill me." Tom licked his lips, "Draco, I mean."

Everything seemed to slow as Tom's words washed over Harry like a heavy fog. No. It couldn't be. Draco would never have put himself in that kind of danger. Right? Harry shook his head, "You're trying to trick me and it won't work. His body and his soul are separated now. You can't hurt him anymore."

"Care to test that theory, boy?"

Harry didn't move.

Tom laughed, and Harry swore he could hear Ginny in the sound. "I had forgotten," his hand clenched at his side, "what a spineless Gryffindor you are." Suddenly Tom's hand shot forward, and a handful of dust flew straight into Harry's eyes.

Harry yelled, jumping back as Tom sprang for him, a jagged rock clutched in his thin pale hand. Pain and blood bloomed across Harry's chest as Tom's rock sliced through his shirt to cut his skin. Apparently pain was one thing he could feel here. Then, something hit him hard across the chest, sending him reeling backwards. He grabbed for Tom's robes, pulling them both the ground. In a tangle of limbs, they fell. Tom's body slammed against his, and Harry heard a breathless gasp in his ear like a gust of wind on a dead night.

Then Harry felt something hot and wet spill over his hand. The blade of Draco's knife was buried to the hilt in the Slytherin heir's ribcage.

With a shuddering gasp, Harry pushed the dark haired boy off him, his hand jerking back from the hilt of the dagger like it had just burned him. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his arm, even as he felt the world shifting around him.

"Harry!" he could hear Ginny's voice yelling in the distance.

But the only thing he could do was look at Tom—lying on his back, blood pooling around his wound like spilt ink. He gazed back at Harry with dark laughing eyes, "Well…now I guess you know…what it feels like." Tom coughed, and there was the sickening sound of blood bubbling in his throat, and then his chest deflated, and he didn't move again.

"Harry!" Ginny was suddenly at his side, shaking him, "you have to get back!"

Panic rose like bile in his throat. He clenched his fist, feeling his fingers slide wetly against his palm. But no…he was still holding the knife, and the ground was hard beneath his legs.

The chamber shook, rocks as big as cars falling and shattering the stone ground.

"Harry, please!"

Harry pressed his eyes shut. He was still in the round room, and the knife was still in his hand. And Draco was still there, waiting for him.

Air filled Harry's lungs, real and painful, and even before Harry opened his eyes he knew he was back. Blackness swirled across his vision as he stared down at Ginny's body and the soul that still flickered faintly over her lips. Mechanically he dropped the knife and picked up Draco's wand. He held it out, pointing at Ginny and concentrating with all his might even as the world spun. He tried to ignore that his hand was still red with blood.

"_Corpuscorporis Reverto_!" Harry held Draco's wand steady as a white light formed at the tip of it, flashing bright before fading again. Nothing happened.

_Come on, Ginny, damn it!_ "_Corpuscorporis Reverto_!" Harry yelled again, the same white light forming at the end of his wand. _Ginny!_ "_Corpuscorporis Reverto_!"

There was the sudden sound of a gasp. Light flashed in Ginny's eyes, and all of a sudden she was looking at him. Her head turned towards him, ever so slowly, "Harry?"

But Harry was already crawling away, back towards Draco's body. Every limb in his body screamed with agony, and his chest felt like it was being ripped open from the inside out. Darkness called to him, beckoning him to fall into the safe black. But he couldn't. Not yet.

He reached Draco's side. The blonde's eyes were still wide and empty, and his mouth still hung open, but there was no longer a soul. _No_. All the air in Harry's lungs seemed to leave him at once. _Tom had been lying! He'd been lying!_

His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was about to break from his chest. Harry raised Draco's wand, "_Corpuscorporis Reverto_!" The wand lit and faded in a flash. "Draco! Don't you dare do this to me! _Corpuscorporis Reverto_!" Draco's gaze still stared up, blank and dead. "_Corpuscorporis Reverto_! Wake up, Draco! _Corpuscorporis Reverto_! WAKE UP!"

White stars danced across Harry's vision, as his head swooned. He could hear other voices now, echoing in the distance.

"_Corpuscorporis Reverto_! _Corpuscorporis Reverto_! _Corpuscorporis Reverto_!" Harry cried, as everything inside him started to crumble. Tears streamed down his face, and in a sudden rage, Harry threw the wand aside and fisted Draco's robes. He pulled the blonde boy up, shaking him hard, "Stop it! Stop it! I know you're there, now wake up! _Corpuscorporis Reverto_!"

"Harry!" Hermione's face was suddenly in front of him, her hand gripping his shoulder hard. Harry jerked away from her, glaring up at her before realizing that her eyes were no longer misted. "Harry!" she looked down at Draco's lifeless body and back up at Harry again, her eyes shining, "Come on! We have to get out of here!"

"I'm not leaving him, Hermione!"

"He's dead, Harry!"

"HE'S NOT DEAD!" Harry thundered, so forcefully he felt his whole body seize.

Hermione's hand left him, "Harry…"

"Go get help."

"I—"

"Go!" She left him and Harry turned back at the blonde, every inch of him shaking. He stared down at the face he knew so well, finding now that he didn't know it at all. Where was the ethereal glow that always shone through his skin? Where was faint pink coloring that always dusted his cheeks? Where was the playful smirk that always pulled at his lips, and the cheeky drawling voice that had somehow wound itself around Harry's heart? And where were those eyes that could see so deeply into him they seemed to touch Harry's very soul? They couldn't be gone.

"Draco," tears fell onto the blonde's cheeks like drops of rain, "please don't leave me. I need you." Harry lowered Draco back to the ground and lowered himself with him, pressing their foreheads together. "Please, Draco. Please," his voice was nothing more than a whisper now. He couldn't keep the darkness away anymore. "I can't go on without you. Please. I love you." Harry pressed his lips to Draco's, feeling the cold skin bite into him like shards of ice. Harry pressed his eyes shut, "Please, Draco, come back. Please…don't leave me."

"_Corpuscorporis Reverto_," the words spilled over Harry's lips, just as he fell into the deep black, feeling something hot burning in his pocket.

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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Sooooo this chapter was crazy hard to write, but oh so fun at the same time! Cept for the end... :(

**It seems Draco's the one in trouble this time...if you would like to make a donation to save his life, please click the 'Review this Chapter' link below.**


	30. Waking Up

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG for dramatic sequences

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: OMG thank you guys so much! Everyone was so nice :) Only two chapters left! This one's a bit short, but I hope you enjoy!

Also note that I used the quote below in my chapter (kind of lol). The Green Mile is probably my favorite movie...and that's my favorite quote from it so I couldn't help but be inspired!

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**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_I dreamed of you. I dreamed you were wandering in the dark, and so was I. And we found each other—we found each other in the dark._

-The Green Mile

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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Harry awoke to a blinding white light, and the sound of whispering voices. He recognized those voices; it was Ron and Hermione. They were talking about something, and it sounded serious. Harry blinked his eyes open slowly, the lethargy of unconsciousness still clinging to him like a vice.

He stared at the two—they were standing on the left side of the bed he was now laying in, their heads bowed together in thought. Where was he anyway? He gazed around at the unmistakable white walls with a grimace. St. Mungo's?

Hermione gasped suddenly, "Harry! You're awake!" She rushed to his side, grabbing his hand and holding it to her chest, tears gathering and spilling over her cheeks, "Oh, Harry! Are you all right?"

Harry smiled weakly, "I'm fine, 'Mione." He did feel a big strange though. His mind felt sluggish—he felt like he should be remembering something.

"Hey mate," Ron said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his gaze as Harry moved to look at him, "We were beginning to worry about you. You've been out for almost a week now."

"A week?" Harry replied blankly.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione's grip on his hand tightened, "We're so sorry. We were under her spell and we—we didn't know what we did! We couldn't help it! Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!"

It all seemed to come back in a rush. The round room: being tied to the wall, and a deathly green curse flying towards him. Then the sound of Draco's voice ringing above it all, casting the spell that had saved Harry's life and ended his own.

Suddenly, breathing became difficult, "Hermione, where is he? Where's Draco?"

Hermione's brown eyes went large. She looked back to exchange a quick glance with Ron before turning back to Harry again.

Harry's heart felt as if it would spring from his ribcage. He tried to sit up, only to have a searing pain slice across his chest.

"Harry, you shouldn't sit up. You're still injured and—"

"Where is he, Hermione?"

"He's here…" she answered slowly, "but, Harry, I don't—"

"Go get him, 'Mione." Ron said.

Hermione dropped Harry's hand to stand up and look back at Ron once more. Harry could see that she was trying her best to control her expression.

Ron nodded, and with a slight smile said, "Go on. Go get him. He's been waiting just as long as we have."

With a confused sort of sigh, Hermione walked around the bed and made towards the door on the right side of the room. She turned only once in the doorway, her lip caught under her teeth, the way it usually was when she was concerned about something. Harry watched her go, wanting to believe that the sudden pang in his chest wasn't because he was worried.

"Harry?" Ron's voice was soft at his side. Harry turned back towards him, and was surprised to see the tears that were shining in his bright blue eyes, "I owe you a real apology."

"Ron, really it's all right, I know you were under a spell and—"

"No," the redhead interjected, stepping forward, "I won't allow it to be all blamed on that. Maybe Hermione can, but I can't." Ron took a deep staggering breath, "All that stuff about Malfoy, before—before I was _really_ under the Imperius Curse—I meant all of it. I knew what I was saying and what I was doing. And I should've known better, Harry! I should've known! What with what happened last year with the locket and everything else! Merlin, Harry, how can I ever ask you to forgive me now? I was so angry, and I didn't see, and how can I expect—"

"Ron," Harry reached out and took Ron's hand in his own, squeezing it tightly, "it's all right. I know why you did it."

Ron's lips quirked into a miserable frown, "You saved my sister, Harry—hell, you saved my whole family. I owe you so much."

Harry smiled, "How is Ginny?"

"Terrified," Ron said, taking his hand from Harry's to rub it across his face, "She remembers everything. Mum and Dad have been doing what they can, but she barely responds to them. She thinks you'll never want to see her again."

"Why in the world would she think that?"

Ron eyed him warily, "She says she remembers trying to kill you."

"She was possessed!" Harry said with a halfhearted chuckle, feeling strangely elated in the aftermath of it all. "How can she feel guilty for anything when she didn't even have control over her own body?"

Ron's hand rubbed over his face once more before dropping limply down to his side, "For the same reasons I feel guilty, I suspect."

Grief swelled in Harry's stomach like a balloon, effectively extinguishing his elation, "I'll talk to her, Ron. Everything will be okay. You'll see. It's all over now."

Ron nodded distantly. He moved his gaze to the door Hermione had left through not minutes before, and his face creased with some dark thought, "Harry…about Malfoy…was—was everything Ginny said about the two of you true? I mean, are you two…together?"

There was a beat of painful silence. "Yes," Harry answered finally.

"I thought you were," Ron said, half to himself, "He woke up right after you passed out back at the manor, and even when the Aurors came they couldn't pry him from your side. I don't think he's gone home once all week. We talked a couple times, and even though I still think he's a slimy git, I can tell that…he loves you." Ron looked at him then, "He saved your life, didn't he."

Harry felt very small at that moment, sitting on the bed with Ron looking at him like that—like he could see straight through him. "Yeah. He did."

The redhead smiled, and just like that the tension between them dissipated, "Well, I'll have to keep that in mind then, next time I want to pummel him to death."

"Thanks, Ron" Harry said with a bemused smirk.

"Do you love him?"

And the tension was back. Harry's heart leapt into this throat, "I—er—" A sudden knock on the door saved him from the—most likely stupid—reply he was about to make. The door creaked open, and Draco Malfoy slid silently into the room.

Their eyes locked, and it felt as if every nerve in Harry's body was a bright blazing light shining with such a happiness, he felt as if the emotion was radiating from him.

He heard Ron chuckle softly at his side, "Guess that answers that question. I'll leave you two alone then." Ron walked towards the door, exchanging a brief curt nod with Draco before sliding past him and out of the room.

The blonde cleared his throat, smiling tentatively, "So…I guess I should welcome you back to the world of the living. You're a bit early, you know. I had this whole ordeal planned—balloons, cake, Hagrid dancing on a stripping pole, the whole shebang. Unfortunately, Hagrid got hungry after practicing his routine and ate the cake, and—"

"Draco, come here."

The blonde's mouth snapped shut, and he walked towards the bed with an antagonizing slowness. But right when he was within reaching distance, Harry grabbed him and pulled him down, not caring if it hurt. He pressed their lips together in a sinuous kiss, relishing in the way Draco's body melted against his own, and the way those hands slid up his neck to cup his face.

Harry only released him, for the need to look at him again. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered.

"You did," Draco's breath was hot against his face, "but that damn Gryffindor luck of yours always seems to pull through."

Harry couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up his throat, "What do you mean?"

The Slytherin stood, reaching into his pocket and pulled out a small star-shaped keychain.

Harry frowned at it, his hands reluctant to release their hold on Draco's robes, "My present from Luna?"

"Is that who gave it to you?" Draco asked with a quirked brow, "I was wondering where you got it. Lightwood trees are horribly rare you know, and take years to grow, but the bark from a mature tree has very powerful magical properties." He handed the small charm to Harry, who took it thoughtfully.

He noticed there was a small crack across its center that hadn't been there before. Harry ran his thumb over it, an unexpected thought dawning on him, "Luna said it would help me find the things that I'd lost."

Draco perched himself on the edge of Harry's bed, placing one hand on the far side of Harry's hips to keep his balance, "After you left me…I opened those doors. I don't remember much, but I do remember there was darkness, and I could hear you calling my name but I couldn't find you. It was so dark, Harry," his grey eyes sparkled like the reflection of stars on a still lake, "I was lost. And then I saw something—a light in the distance. I ran towards it, and the further I ran the louder your voice got. And then I found you, Harry—I found you in the dark."

Gently, the blonde took the keychain from Harry's hand and set it down on the bed, before leaning forward. His face stopped just above Harry's, and the Gryffindor couldn't help the shudder of anticipation that flitted across his skin. Draco's hand came up to stroke Harry's cheek softly, and Harry's eyes fluttered shut. He loved the feeling of Draco's skin against his own. The blonde's fingers dipped lower, his nails running across Harry's chin before coming back up and running delicately across the length of Harry's lips, light and tickling like the tip of a feather.

"Harry," Draco breathed, his thumb stopping so it barely touched the center of Harry's lower lip, "why did you come into my soul first?"

Harry opened his eyes, but Draco was too close to see properly, "How is it not obvious?"

"Humor me."

Harry's mouth opened and closed several times before he finally replied, "I love you. What other reason do I need?"

Draco's forehead fell heavily against his own. His skin felt smooth and cool, "But I betrayed you. I thought that after you found out you would think that I didn't—"

"I wanted to hate you. I tried, but I just couldn't—you meant too much to me. And then…and then you saved me. And like it or not I do know you at least a little bit, Draco. You're as Slytherin as they come, and I know you lot aren't exactly known for willingly putting yourselves in danger, especially for the sake of someone else. So, for you to sacrifice yourself for me like that—for Ginny too—how could you possibly think I wouldn't realize it for what it was?"

Draco made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, "You'll have to forgive me. I'm still stuck on the belief that you're idiotic and borderline suicidal—scratch that, I think you've earned the title of genuinely suicidal now."

Harry grinned, but said nothing. Instead he moved to tangle his hands in Draco's hair, liking the way it slid through his fingers like fine silk. The blonde hummed contently against him and dropped his hand back down to Harry's neck, delicately kneading the skin there. Harry took a deep breath, "Hey, Draco," and exhaled.

"Yeah?"

Reality seemed to blur for a suspended moment, "I killed someone."

He felt the Slytherin tense against him, "I know, Harry."

"I didn't want to. But he attacked me…and he…he fell, and my knife was just there and—"

Harry was cut off as Draco closed the short distance between their mouths. The blonde's hand dipped under the small of his neck, pulling Harry in closer. Tendrils of electric pleasure danced across Harry's lips, before crawling down his jaw to prickle at the tip of his spine. Draco's lips moved heatedly against his own, his teeth nipping gently at Harry's bottom lip. Harry more than got the message. He opened his mouth and his senses were flooded with the Slytherin's wonderful taste. Their tongues moved together, caressing, and Harry felt a soft heated shiver run all the way through him.

Draco's right hand moved to Harry's hip, pressing him down into the mattress. The Gryffindor let out a quavering breath, feeling it mix with Draco's and pool hotly against his nose and mouth. But Harry knew the words that were left unspoken between them—he knew from the soft slow way Draco's lips moved against his own, as if he could somehow feel Harry's pain in the kiss. But more than that, he could share it. The blonde pressed himself harder against him, his tongue delving into Harry's mouth and sending a wave of heat down through his chest and into his stomach where it coiled snapped at his veins like fire. Harry's back arched, as Draco's nails slid across his neck to sink into his collarbone.

Slowly, Draco's hand began to inch across Harry's hip.

Harry grabbed his wrist, breaking their kiss with a raucous grin, "Draco, we're in a hospital."

"Stop it, Harry" Draco smirked playfully, "You know that showing off your intellect gets me all hot and bothered."

"Draco!" Harry chortled, "I'm being serious! Plus, I'm still injured. Tom kind of sliced me open in case you hadn't noticed."

Smile falling, Draco sat up, his hand trailing across Harry's bandage ever so lightly. "My father always said the Healers here were worthless," his fingers stopped just at the base of Harry's ribcage, "Does it hurt very badly?"

Harry took the blonde's hand in his own and smiled, feeling a tender warmth settle over him, "It doesn't matter. I'm just happy you're okay."

Draco nodded and looked away, "I went to see Ginny while you were asleep."

Harry didn't know how to respond, so he didn't.

"She remembers everything you know."

"Ron told me."

"Yeah," Draco's eyes misted, as he lost himself in some dark thought that Harry would never know, "I think she hates me. Not that I care much, mind you, but still…it was strange—talking to her and seeing her look at me like she used to."

Harry's lip rolled under his teeth, "I'm sure she doesn't hate you, Draco."

"No she does." Mirth pulled the blonde's lips into a broken smile, "For not telling you what was happening to her I suspect. I don't blame her."

"Draco, you had no choice. You—"

"No!" Draco's head whipped back towards him, his eyes bright with a barely restrained anger, "I did have a choice, and don't you dare say that I didn't! I may have saved you in the end, but I could've told you everything right from the beginning. And it doesn't matter if I almost did, or if I tried to, the fact is that I _didn't_. I gambled with both of our lives thinking I could save my father. And that Dementor's Peck spell—hell, I didn't even know if it would work."

Harry blanched, "You—you didn't know?"

"I mean, I tested it on Binky, and she came back all right, but doing it in the heat of the moment like that is a whole other story. And that killing curse she threw at you…she could have killed you, Harry."

"But she didn't."

"But she almost did."

"But she _didn't_." Harry repeated, giving the blonde a hard look, "There's no point in playing the 'what if's', Draco, and I don't want to. I can't. What happened, happened, and there's no use in thinking what could've been done or should've been done because that's not the way it _was_ done, and what the hell are you smiling at?"

Draco laughed a laugh that seemed to brighten the room, "Nothing. You're just starting to sound like me."

Harry stuck out his tongue, "Well at least one of us does."

The Slytherin bent down to kiss Harry on the tip of his nose, "I'll make a Slytherin out of you yet."

"Are you trying to insult my intellect again?"

"Harry, darling" Draco drawled in long sarcastic tones, "when have I ever _tried_ to insult your intellect. Overall I think I've been rather successful at it."

Harry snorted, "You're not cute."

"On the contrary, I _know_ I'm cute."

A moment of comfortable silence fell on them then, where both boys kept perfectly still, basking in the heat of another body so close to their own.

"Hey, Draco," Harry could just barely hear the sound of his own voice.

Draco hummed.

"I love you."

The blonde placed another gentle kiss on Harry's nose, "I love you too, Harry."

Just then there was a soft knocking on the door. Harry felt a wave of cool hit him as the blonde sat up and rose from the bed, pulling his hand away as he left. The door clicked open and a rather tall mediwizard poked his head through.

He had mousy brown hair and thick horn-rimmed glasses, "Ah, Mr. Potter, I see that you've finally awoken. I'm sure your friends are quite relieved." He took a moment to look pointedly at Draco, "Now Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I must do a physical examination on Mr. Potter here and I'm afraid visitors aren't allowed in the room during the procedure."

Draco straightened his robes and offered the mediwizard one of his coldest Malfoy sneers, "It's about time you got here. He's been awake for almost half an hour now. Do try and be less incompetent in the future."

The mediwizard simply stared at him, wide-eyed.

Turning back to Harry with a self satisfied sort of grin, Draco said, "I'll be back right after he's done. There are some things I need to attend to anyway."

Harry smiled back, nodding, "Okay. See you soon."

And without another word, Draco turned and left the room, leaving Harry quite alone with the shocked looking mediwizard.

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Aw, you guys didn't actually think I would kill Draco, did you? Ok...so maybe I thought about it, but in the end I just couldn't do it! I wuvs him too much (and I'm sure y'all feel the same). :)

**The end is near! Review if you're as excited as I am! :D (P.S. ...I'm pretty excited)**


	31. For Always, Forever

**Title**: Obsessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is R for dramatic sequences and sexual content

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and sadly I own nothing...I'm not even related to her *sobs*

**A/N**: So we've finally reached the end of the line folks! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone and that I hope you enjoy the final chapter. And guess what! It's from Draco's POV! YAY!

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_Started with a perfect kiss then_

_We could feel the poison set in_

_Perfect couldn't keep this love alive_

_You know that I love you so_

_I love you enough to let you go_

_I want you to know that it doesn't matter_

_Where we take this road, someone's gotta go_

_And I want you to know, you couldn't have loved me better_

_But I want you to move on, so I'm already gone._

-Kelly Clarkson

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Draco walked out of Harry's room, wringing his hands beneath the sleeves of his robes, and paying particular attention to the straightness of his shoulders as he walked. He had to be careful not to show anybody that he squirming with anxiousness on the inside. He had to remain calm and cool, just like he'd planned.

He didn't have to walk far to get to the Ginger and his Mudblood girlfriend. Before he'd gone to see Harry, he'd told Granger that he needed to talk to she and her goon boyfriend. Luckily enough she had chosen to ignore the insult and actually listen to what he had said, which was a pretty big step up from the reaction he normally got—namely a hex, coupled with an unintelligent insult or two. They were currently standing close together on the edge of the hallway, talking in hushed tones about something Draco was sure he didn't care to know about.

Their conversation stopped, however, when Draco got within hearing distance. The blonde made sure to put on his best sneer as he closed the final distance between them, making sure he was just close enough to be intruding on their personal space. He smiled as they flinched back slightly.

"Glad you both decided to show up for our little get together," Draco drawled, his lips curling at the edges.

Weasley simply glared at him like a buffoon, probably because he couldn't think of anything productive to say—or so thought Draco.

"What did you want to meet us for, Malfoy?" Granger asked, in her annoying calculating manor.

"Oh I was just mulling over how brilliant it would be if the three of us started a band. I could be the devastatingly handsome lead singer, Granger could be my backup singer that was secretly my squeeze, and Weasley," Draco gestured vaguely, "you could play the tambourine or something. You seem like a tambourine kind of guy."

"Malfoy," Weasley said his name through clenched teeth, and Draco was reminded of the sound of grinding gears.

"We could call ourselves Felix and the Death Eaters. You see, it's funny because nobody in our group is named Felix, and the name is sexually ambiguous enough to really make things complicated for the media."

"Malfoy, stop being ridiculous," Granger chided.

Draco shook his head and crossed his arms, "Merlin, without Potter in your group you two are a real pair of sticks in the mud you know that?"

The brunette threw him a sharp glare, "Tell us what this is about or we're leaving. We're supposed to be visiting Ginny right now."

"Fine." Draco sneered, "I wanted to talk to you two about Harry."

Weasley growled, "What about him?"

Draco leveled the Ginger with a cool leer. The redhead's face abruptly went scarlet. "I wanted to talk to you about what to do with him, before this whole ordeal gets too out of hand."

This seemed to perk Granger's interest, "Before _what_ gets too out of hand?"

"Everything," Draco replied shortly, "I think you'll both agree when I say that everything that has happened over this summer has been hard on him…and probably even harder on Ginny. This wasn't how everything was supposed to happen after the war ended."

"No," Granger agreed, her eyes darting over to look at Weasley before returning to Draco once more, "but that's not exactly something we can change, so what is it that you're suggesting?"

"We may not be able to change what happened, but we can change what they _think_ happened." Draco allowed a small moment of silence, if only so that the statement he'd just made could better sink in. He was surprised his voice had remained so calm. His stomach felt like a leaf trembling in the wind. At least he hadn't lost his touch.

Granger, of course, was the first to catch on, "You want us to…obliviate them?"

"No way," Weasley shook his head, his blue eyes going large, "No way we're doing that."

"Think about it Weasel," Draco snapped, his hands balling into fists at his sides, "Your sister is lying in there right now driving herself half mad with guilt. Don't tell me you can deny it." Weasley remained silent, but his shoulders had gone tense. "And Harry will be the same way soon. He had to kill Tom with his own hand, and trust me when I say that nothing can ever take that mark away from him. He's going to be stuck with that memory, and it will haunt him every day for the rest of his life. And as for Ginny, chances are she'll never be able to look Harry in the eye again. She _knows_ that the last spell she performed was a killing curse meant just for him. So tell me, what's the point of them remembering? What do they gain?"

Granger and Weasley exchanged another cryptic glance. The brunette's mouth quirked, "I understand doing it to Ginny—what happened to her was beyond horrible—but Harry too? You do realize what that would mean."

"Yes, Granger, I do." Draco tried to keep his voice level, but he could tell that his control was beginning to break. _Just don't think about him_. "I know that he would forget me—that he would hate me again."

"And you still want to do it?"

"All the more reason I should want to!" Draco couldn't help the snarl that pulled at his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest stiffly, willing himself not to shake.

He could feel Weasley's piercing cerulean gaze boring into him. "I thought," the redhead's voice was suddenly soft, and gentle, "that you loved him."

The words sent a chilling tremor through Draco's body, straight into his stomach. It felt like he was falling, hard and fast through the floor and there was nothing below to catch him. The Slytherin closed his eyes for a long moment before he opened him again, his resolve wavering, "I do love him. But I know that, because I love him enough to know that I'm not good for him. I love him enough to know that he deserves a beautiful life, and I can't give him that. He loved your sister, didn't he?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Then let him have the chance to _really_ be happy—to live that charmed Gryffindor idyllic apple pie life he fought so hard for. He can't have it with me, and you both know he can't. It was never supposed to be me."

Weasley frowned stupidly, "But…he loves you."

Draco cried out in frustration, flinging his arms into the air and marching in a heated circle, "You damn stubborn Gryffindors! Why can't you understand this? I _manipulated_ him. It. Was. My. Job. It was my job to get him to go along with Tom's little plan so that I could get the Elder Wand! He was under the influence of a love spell for Merlin's sake! And you think he actually loves me?" Guilt surged through him like a shock. Of course he knew that Harry loved him. But this wasn't about whether Harry loved him or not. This was about something more—something Harry would never allow himself to have as long as Draco was in the way. A family. "He'll realize it one way or another: that something is not quite there, that something is missing. And by then it will be too late. Don't you see?"

Granger and Weasley weren't looking at him anymore. They were looking at the ground, their faces stretched with mirrored frowns of misery.

"If we do this, everything can go back to normal again," Draco said, because it was the last ounce of leeway he had over them.

Weasley's eyes flicked up. Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, he leaned heavily against the wall, "Are we talking memory replacement here, or just the straight spell?"

"Ron!" Granger flared, turning on him incredulously. The redhead, however, paid her no mind.

Draco didn't know if it was possible, but his heart seemed to leap up and fall like a stone in his chest at the same time. "With Ginny I think you could easily take out certain aspects and replace them with simple memories." The blonde felt his stomach tighten nervously, but he held tight to his blank expression, "With Harry, I don't think it will be as simple. We're going to have to wipe everything."

Granger glanced between the two boys, looking half wild, "And tell him what?"

Draco rounded on her, "Something. Anything! Tell him he fell down a flight of stairs and hit his head, or fell off his broom! What does it matter?"

"It does matter," Weasley said, sounding much calmer than he looked, "We're going to have to keep our story straight if this is actually going to work."

The brunette grabbed at Weasley's sleeve. "Ron!" she exclaimed, tears growing in her large chocolate colored eyes, "We can't possibly be considering this!"

"How can we not, Hermione?" Weasley grabbed both of his girlfriend's hands in his own, and Draco just barely suppressed an eye roll. "I know why you don't want to, but—Merlin help me for saying this—I think Malfoy may be right on this one. You've seen yourself how bad Ginny is. Mum and Dad are about at their wits end! And Harry…Hermione you heard how he's been screaming in his sleep all week. How far are we supposed to let them go, hoping they don't fall? What are we supposed to do?"

Silent tears were rolling down the reddened curve of Granger's cheek. She pulled her hands back to wipe them away, nodding slowly, "Fine. We'll do it. But, Malfoy—"

Draco, who had been busy inspecting the damage his neglected nails had suffered, looked at the brunette, but didn't bother to appear interested.

"You know that there's no going back on this."

Draco arched a brow, even as the words shot him straight through, "I'm aware, yes."

"There is no reversing a memory spell. All your memories with Harry—once lost, they'll be lost forever."

"Thank you for spelling that out for me, Granger. Fancy I passed fifth year without you at my side."

Granger shook her head, her nose wrinkled in disgust, "So how do you want to do this?"

"You two take care of the little Weaselette however you see fit," Draco drawled with an absent shrug, "just make sure everyone knows the plan and gets it straight."

"And Harry?" Weasley asked.

The blonde bit back the sorrow rising in his throat. "Give me tonight with him," he said slowly, staring at the wall. It was so white—so perfectly blank. "I'll do the spell myself. Whatever you tell him in the morning is up to you—no need to tell me the details. And after that I'll be out of your hair, and you can go off and live your charming, yet sickeningly cliché, lives." Unable to bare standing there for another second, Draco turned on his heel and marched back down the hall back towards Harry's room. He didn't bother to look back.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

The hours with Harry passed with a sweet slowness, but as far as Draco was concerned, they didn't pass anywhere near slowly enough. The two lay together in Harry's bed, limbs intertwined, gazing out the window that Draco had charmed on the far wall. Dusk was nearly past, and the final lingering rays of the sun stretched over the horizon in vibrant hues of red and orange. Draco couldn't help but think that his life as he knew it was setting with that sun. His father was dead, and he was about to lose the only other person he'd ever allowed himself to cherish.

Harry sighed contently, curling his head deeper into the crook of Draco's neck.

The blonde stroked his hair, silently admiring how soft it felt as it sifted through his fingers. He was doing the right thing. He knew he was. Harry was better off without someone like him in his life. Draco knew he would never be able to forgive himself for what he'd done, but this at least, was a step in the right direction. Harry would get what he deserved…and so would he.

"Hey, Draco?" Harry's arm tightened around the blonde's stomach.

"Yes?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"You," Draco replied honestly. He ran his free hand along the length of Harry's arm, liking the way he could feel its warmth even through his shirt. It was always that way with the Gryffindor—he was always so warm.

"Me too—about you I mean." Suddenly, Harry lifted himself from Draco's shoulder, turning so that he was propped up with one hand on either side of Draco's waist.

Draco didn't know why, but those green eyes never seemed to fail at making his heart skip. They always seemed to stare at him with such unyielding determination—emeralds shaped by the years of darkness he'd seen. He was so young—too young—to have eyes like that.

"Draco," the dark haired boy said his name slowly, like it was something sacred to him, "I want something that's ours."

Draco frowned at him, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, I want something I can say to you and you can say to me, that nobody knows about but us. Something special."

The strings of Draco's heart vibrated with a pang of misery, even as he made his lips stretch into an amused smirk, "Why in the world do you want something like that?"

"I just do."

"Harry," Draco took the Gryffindors right hand with his left, pressing them together so their fingers and palms aligned, "I love you."

Harry smiled, that beautiful smile that always lit his whole face, "For always?"

Draco smiled back, "Forever."

Harry leaned in to kiss him then, and Draco could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. He closed them tightly and brought his other hand up to cup Harry's cheek, trying not to think about anything but the wonderful soft weight of the warm mouth against his own. Harry made a small pleasured sound, somewhere in the back of his throat, and it vibrated against Draco's lips and curled heatedly down his spine. Merlin, no one had ever made him feel even close to this with just a kiss before. He felt so aware—so alive, like Harry was the sole possessor of the key to some secret door in his heart he'd never even knew existed.

He needed to feel every part of Harry again. Just once more. Just this one last time.

Draco ran his hand along Harry's chest where he knew the other boy's bandage to be, wishing he could feel skin instead of the cloth of the scratchy hospital pajamas. The Gryffindor shuddered against him nevertheless. Draco pulled back from the kiss for but a moment, "How's your injury?"

"You've already asked me a million times," Harry replied, his voice low and laden with lust, "I've told you, it's fine now."

"Good," was all Draco could manage to say before he pulled the dark haired boy back to him, crushing their lips together once more. He separated their hands to grab at Harry's back, forcing their bodies together. Draco's hips left the mattress as he ground their hips together, enjoying the not-so-subtle shuddering gasp it elicited from the other boy.

Harry responded eagerly, pressing back against him, rocking their hips together feverishly even as their tongues battled. Draco groaned into the kiss, feeling heat pulse through every inch of his body. He grabbed Harry tightly by the waist, forcing him down harder and faster. Harry's arms began to tremble at his sides, and he broke the kiss to pant heavily against Draco's lips. But there was no way Draco was going to let the dark haired boy go so easily. The Slytherin brought one hand up to Harry's jaw line, pressing up against it so he could get access to that silken tanned neck.

Slowly, he ran his tongue along the exposed skin, tasting salt and inhaling the heady smell of freshly mowed grass laced with citrus that was so uniquely Harry. Draco felt the other boy shift as his tongue found that sensitive nub of nerves at the junction between his jawline and his neck. Smiling ferally, Draco nipped at the skin and was rewarded with a breathy moan. Harry's hips were still moving against his own, and the blonde could feel the other boy's arousal thrusting firmly against his own, sending tiny shocks of electric pleasure shooting through his blood. Draco bit at the skin again, harder this time, and Harry barely restrained the whimper that shot up his throat.

Draco's mind was well fogged now, which he was more than thankful for. He felt like he was floating above it all, somehow. Now all he could think about was the beautiful heat that filled him and the feeling of the fleeting pulse that was racing under his lips. But he couldn't lose himself to it. Not yet. He needed to engrain this in his mind—burn it there so fiercely that the scar would never leave him. The way Harry's body felt against his own, hard and lithe and quivering with need. The way his back arched each time their hips came together, and the way his teeth nipped feverishly at Draco's ear. The Slytherin wanted it all and more, because he knew that he would never have it again.

He brought Harry's lips to his own once more, lazily dragging his tongue across the dark haired boy's bottom lip. Then Harry brought his hips down, hard, and Draco's vision burst into white. Heat soared through him, curling up his throat and spilling over his lips in the form of a breathless moan.

"Harry," Draco whispered, his words separated by each movement of Harry's body against his own, "I want you inside me."

At that Harry stilled, and the blonde barely suppressed a growl.

The Gryffindor pulled back, looking at him with wide green eyes, "What?"

Draco's hand tightened on Harry's hip, and he thrust up against him, if only to make a point, "You heard me."

"But…I've never—"

"Harry," Draco nipped at the dark haired boy's lip, "Clothes. Off. Now."

Harry sat up, his legs still straddling Draco's waist. The blonde sat up with him, taking a silent moment to admire the intense look of concentration on Harry's face as he tried to undo the buttons of his pajamas with shaking hands. With a smirk, Draco reached out and pushed Harry's hands away. The Gryffindor looked at him, his eyes greener than a field of clover in summer, and Draco held his gaze steadily, his nimble fingers making easy work of the first button. His hands worked their way down, taking the time to gently caress every inch of newly exposed skin. He could feel Harry's chest rise and fall in uneven breaths, and the way his heart pounded against his ribcage. When he was done, Draco raised his hands back up to push the cloth from Harry's shoulders. The shirt fell around his waist with barely a whispering sound.

Draco lowered his gaze then, watching his hands as they trailed over the dips of Harry's collarbone, down over the smooth planes of his chest, broken only by the soft cloth that still covered his wound. Draco's hands traveled over it before moving lower, his fingers gliding along the ridges of the dark haired boy's stomach and spreading out to feel the sharp curve of his hipbones. He was so beautiful.

"Draco," Harry breathed.

The Slytherin looked back up, his brows coming together at the sight of Harry's frown. His hands stopped, "What is it, Harry?"

"Draco," Harry seemed to struggle, "…is something wrong?"

Draco's mouth quirked. Had he really been so obvious? Oh, if only he could say. If only he could tell Harry of the things that plagued him now. Why did it always seem to be like this? Why was it that there was always something to hide? "No. Of course not." Draco forced a smile on his lips, "Why would you think something is wrong?"

"It's just," the Gryffindor rolled his lip under his teeth nervously, "are you sure you want me to—"

Draco silenced him with a kiss. When they parted, his breath was hot against Harry's lips, "I'm sure."

And without further hesitation, he was kissing Harry once more, melding their lips together as if he could somehow imprint the sensation on his skin. His hands made quick work of his own robe and shirt, and he tossed them to the ground, where they landed with a soft whoosh of cloth. Draco leaned back once more, and pulled Harry with him. Thin fingers slid down the dark haired boy's torso, memorizing the way it felt, smoother than the surface of a still lake, but so warm, as if the sun's heat had become trapped beneath his skin. Draco's hands found the hemline of Harry's bottoms, and their kiss broke with a hitched breath.

With a feral smile, the blonde shucked the trousers down, enjoying the way the other boy was now panting against him. But Harry's hands were moving too, trailing along his skin like live flames, branding him with heat. They found Draco's belt, and began working fruitlessly with the clasp. Draco couldn't help but chuckle, because it was so typical of Harry—to be so hopelessly clumsy in the heat of the moment.

The blonde moved to help him, and together they kicked off the remainder of the clothing that separated them.

And Draco knew he would never forget that blissful moment when their bodies met in full, hot and already slick with anticipation. His hands traveled up and down Harry's back, trailing along the ridges of his spine and pulling him in even closer. Their tongues met and battled, neither willing to relinquish anything to the other. And then, Harry's hips moved, and Draco's whole body was rocked with a pulse of pure ecstasy.

Their bodies slid against, the line between them so seamless that Draco was sure the heat would weld them together. Harry's tongue slid languidly against his own, even as they moaned softly into each other as their hips met. And everything seemed to all blur together at once—the feeling of Harry's chest, so hard against his own, the sound of Harry's voice as he murmured Draco's name against his lips, and this feeling of utter completeness that had him filled to the brim. It was too much, and Draco couldn't take it anymore.

"Harry," his voice broke with emotion, "please." He hated what Harry had reduced him to, yet at the same time it made him tremble with a heady yearning. Somehow, the Gryffindor had wormed his way into Draco's heart. The blonde had kept it safely encased for so long, deep down in the coldest depths of his darkness, that he'd thought no one could ever hope to reach it. But Harry had. The truth was, it was Harry who'd saved him from the empty shell he'd allowed himself to become. No one else could've done it, the blonde was sure of that much. It had to be Harry. It was always Harry.

More out of habit than actual thought, Draco muttered a lubrication charm, and hissed as he felt the spell coat him. The dark haired boy's hand ran up and down Draco's thigh, and the Slytherin could tell he was waiting for instruction.

Tenderly, Draco took the other boy's hand in his own, guiding it down, smiling when he felt Harry's pulse quicken. He couldn't deny that he enjoyed the simple innocence that Harry still clung to. After all the horrors he'd seen and endured, this at least was left untainted. And Draco knew that it belonged to him, and him alone—that this, what they were to each other now, could never be taken from him. It was enough for Draco to know that much, at least. It was enough to know that this memory was his forever, and to know that in his whole life he had been truly loved at least once. And it was so much more than he had ever hoped for…so much more than he had ever dreamed.

"Draco," Harry murmured against his ear, stretching his fingers and pressing their hips together once more, "I love you. Merlin, I love you so much."

The blonde closed his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer. All he wanted was to get lost in the delicious friction that existed between them, and let himself fall into the sweeping moment that had been calling him for so long now. "Harry," he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly, "don't make me wait anymore."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. Exhaling forcefully, he pressed his body into Draco's. A shock stronger than any stunning curse he'd ever encountered shot through him, lancing up is spine and making his back bow. His hands jerked up to grasp at Harry's shoulders, his nails digging mercilessly into the skin there. Harry kissed his ear gently, muttering words strung together with love even as he trembled in his effort to remain still.

But Draco didn't want him to be still. The Slytherin pulled Harry in deeper, and together both boys gasped, holding each other tight. Pain raced through Draco's nerves, but it was so different from how he remembered it. Instead of pleading him to stop, his body seemed to beg for more—more of this brilliant heat that was turning his blood to fire.

Harry thrust again and again, and the room was so quiet it seemed to envelope their keening moans as they rang through the still air. And Draco wondered if this was what it was like to feel complete, to have every part of himself filled and not needing anything more. Because he could feel more than just Harry's body and how his arm was wrapped around Draco's back, cradling him close as if he would never let go. He could feel more than the way their skin slid together, glistening with sweat and their muscles shaking as every part of them seized up with unbridled passion. He could feel more than just himself, so close and still wanting more.

He could feel Harry's love.

Draco could feel it, pouring in to him, real and electric as the live magic flowing through his veins. It made his throat tighten and his pulse race. He'd never felt so…alive.

"Draco," the dark haired boy repeated, over and over again, as if it was the only word his tongue remembered how to form.

Something was rising in him, hard and fast like a raging river ready to burst through a dam. Draco's entire body was surging, undulating with each cry that tore through Harry's throat. He knew it was all going to end soon. And, Merlin help him, he wanted to stop it—to make this one moment last forever. But he could no sooner stop this than he could stop breathing.

With a strangled cry, Harry's back arched, every muscle in his body tensing even as Draco's vision exploded into white. Heat coiled and ripped through the blonde, tearing through him like lightning tears through the sky, igniting everything at once in one brilliant flash. And all too soon he was falling back down—back into the small white room where reality sat waiting for him.

Harry fell on top of him, pressing a soft kiss into his neck, and Draco could feel his lips curling into a smile, "I love you, Draco."

The blonde hummed contently, running his fingers up and down the smooth planes of Harry's sweat moistened back, "I love you too, Harry."

"For always?" Harry took Draco's hand and pressed it flat against his own.

Draco opened his eyes, and saw that Harry was looking at him, his green eyes hooded with lethargy but still gleaming with his inextinguishable Gryffindor trust. Draco's own eyes traced the curve of Harry's smile, moving down along the curve of his chin to admire the straight sturdy line of his jaw, up to the gentle rise of his rose stained cheeks, and back to finally meet that glowing emerald gaze once more. He knew that this would be the last time he would ever see Harry look at him like that, with every part of his expression positively glowing with love, but he smiled back anyway, because he couldn't help but feel lucky to have ever even seen the other boy look at him that way in the first place. That look was never meant for him, but somehow knowing that…made it all the more precious. "Forever, Harry."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

It was almost morning now. Draco sat, glaring at first rays of sun that were just starting to peak over the distant horizon. Harry, meanwhile, was fast asleep, curled against his side with one arm draped over his stomach, clueless that this particular sunrise would change both of their lives forever.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see his wand on the side table. He had been sure to place it there earlier, knowing that he would need it. Calmly, and with a mechanical like stiffness, Draco reached over and grabbed the wand. The second his fingers touched the wood his heart clenched with a pang of remorse. But he refused to think about it. If he thought about it, he knew he wouldn't be able to do it.

He brought the wand close to his chest, his left hand squeezing it tightly as the right came up to gently fist Harry's hair. How soft it felt under his fingers, shining gold like ink reflecting sunlight. _But no_, Draco abashed, _don't…_

His left hand began to quiver, and for some reason he couldn't help but think of the mark that marred his wrist—a constant reminder of the darkness he could never seem to escape. It was the physical reminder of the childhood he'd left behind, and the path he'd chosen. It was the proof that there would always be a part of him that would be in direct opposition to Harry's light. So he had to do this, even if it destroyed him.

Draco inhaled deeply, meaning to clear his mind, but instead his senses were assaulted with the crisp clean smell of grass, and the fresh scent of lemon soap. He knew that smell by heart—knew it by hate just as much as love. His fingers moved down to brush against the nape of Harry's neck, aching to feel the heat that bare skin promised. The Gryffindor sighed against him, his breath rolling over the blonde's stomach, tickling the fine hairs there and causing him to shiver.

How was it that Harry could torture him even while he slept?

He just had to not think about it. He couldn't. He couldn't think about what it had been like to feel his heart leap at the brush of a hand, or how the sound of his first name spilling over Harry's lips made his pulse fly. He couldn't think about how, for once in his life, he finally knew what it was like to care more about somebody else than himself. He couldn't think about how Harry had been the first person to look at him, and make him feel as if he really existed. Harry had shown him all that and more. There was no describing it—everything that Harry was to him—how wrong it all had been, and how earth-shatteringly perfect.

But that's why he had to do this. Because for once, he wasn't going to allow himself to be selfish. Harry was so beautiful, and he deserved so much.

In the surreal silence, Draco raised his wand to Harry's temple, knowing he was about to make both the worst and the best decision of his life. If he did this…there was no going back. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling wetly down his cheeks as the soft fatal word formed on his lips, "_Obliviate_."

* * *

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

-FIN-

(To be continued...)

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

Ok so first off...DON'T KILL ME! I know this isn't the happy ending that many of y'all wanted but do remember that...

1. There will be a sequel! (Though this story can be viewed as a stand-alone)

and

2. I wanted to create a story that would fit in with every part of canon...including the epilogue.

So, sans sad ending, I hope that you guys enjoyed the story! And to everyone who reviewed and favorited, I really appreciated all the support, and believe me I wouldn't have been able to get through it without you! I'm going to start updating my Livejournal soon, so if you're wanting to read about updates on the upcoming sequel, go to my profile page and click on the link. Again, thank you sooooo much for reading!

**Please review! :D**


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